Slowly working on showing each and every one of my books...
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Book Shelf Tour (History - Part II)
A small portion of my history books, with my entire library to come. Enjoy, everyone!
Book Shelf Tour (History - Part I)
A small portion of my history books, with my entire library to come. Enjoy, everyone!
Friday, March 22, 2013
Book Haul #7
[The above video is mostly a
reading of the text below, with an occasional aside thrown in for good measure
as they strike me as relevant. I welcome
questions, comments, or concerns about the material contained in this video.]
I welcome questions, comments, or concerns about the
material contained in this video.
Books discussed include (not including the ones I forgot
from the last book haul):
Wonderful Life: The Burgess Shale and the Nature of History,
Stephen Jay Gould
Russian Thinkers, Isaiah Berlin
Babel Tower, A. S. Byatt
The Devil Tree, Jerzy Kosinski
Public Intellectuals: A Study of Decline, Richard Posner
The Nightmare Years: 1930-1940, William L. Shirer
Anthropology as Cultural Critique, George Marcus &
Michael Fischer
The Song of the Dodo, David Quammen
Spheres of Liberty, Michael Kammen
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Review of Kim Townsend's "Manhood at Harvard: William James and Others"
[The above video is mostly a
reading of the text below, with an occasional aside thrown in for good measure
as they strike me as relevant. I welcome
questions, comments, or concerns about the material contained in this video.]
This is a really beautiful extended essay on a variety of interdisciplinary themes, from sociology to culture to philosophy to college life at Harvard at the end of the nineteenth century. Townsend, one of whose academic interests on his Amherst page is listed as “American Literature and Culture, 1865-1925,” earned his Ph.D. at Harvard and it’s obvious that the culture both grew on him and continues to fascinate him.
As the title divulges, this is a book largely concerned very much with what could be called the “cult of manhood” at Harvard between approximately 1865 and 1905, focusing heavily on both the colleagues and students of American philosopher and pragmatist William James. Because of the time period covered, Townsend’s interest is almost exactly coeval with the leadership of Charles William Eliot, Harvard’s longest serving president, from 1869 to 1909. James, Eliot, and Lowell (the President who directly followed Eliot) all believed that Harvard was a kind of intellectual confraternity. This language, both inside and outside the institution of higher education, sounds old-fashioned, and it is. We never hear people speak this way anymore. Depending on who was speaking, there were various amounts of misogyny, imperialism, and racism behind these declarations, with William James being perhaps one of the more liberal and humanistic, and the big, bold blustering of Teddy Roosevelt (class of 1880) holding up the other side of the spectrum.
However, the narrow topic of “manliness at Harvard” is not sustained for the entire book. Townsend is interested in James’ early life, especially the time he spent in his late twenties suffering from what was then identified as “neurasthenia” - what we might today call bipolar disorder or possibly depression. There are judicious interludes describing James’ pragmatism, which I’ve always found a peculiar flurry of Emersonianism and Stoicism. James’ writing has always struck me as having so much that is American in it. Its ability to temporize, its relentless sympathy with religiosity, to create itself anew – these were always attractive qualities. However, I was always put off by its explicit disinterest in metaphysics or ethics, even if I might invariably disagree with its conclusions. Whatever my personal opinions of James’ thought, Townsend has an infectious passion for James the man and James the teacher, as well as Alice (his sister) and Henry Sr. (his father).
Townsend also covers several elements of ordinary college life, especially the sea change in opinion that was occurring in sports. Before the 1860’s, sports were an afterthought at Harvard, a distraction from the scholarly pursuit of Latin, Greek, and Dante. After the Civil War, a decidedly pro-sports faction arose; some were moderate in their advocacy, thinking that a healthy body was just as important as a healthy mind, while others (especially Roosevelt) couldn’t possibly conceive of becoming a man without rowing crew or being on a football team. President Eliot bemoaned the rise of sports, seeing it as an unnecessary incursion into collegiate culture, but suffered it silently for the most part. Townsend also details how Eliot, the great reformer that he was, regretted the rise of specialization and professionalism associated with college education, holding the older, humanist position that it was the duty of every person (that was, for a long time, every man) to better himself through the pursuit of learning, not just of those who wants to crudely utilize their education for monetary gain.
While the central figures are undeniably Eliot and James, the peripheral ones abound: George Santayana, Henry Adams, Nathaniel Shaler, Gertrude Stein (whose passion and interest in James was undying), Teddy Roosevelt, and W. E. B. Du Bois. Even though these people were all at the elite educational institution that Harvard became during the last third of the nineteenth century, it’s still wonderful to think that so many great minds mixed there not so long ago, and the book provides generous excerpts from their letters. Above all, Townsend provides a portrait or a specific time and culture in American history which is truly past. So much of it strikes us modern readers as crude and full of machismo, and we must not make the crucial mistake of being too quick to pass judgment. There is also a lot that inspires and emboldens the imagination here: it would be easy to idealize and romanticize the time and place, even for its many obvious flaws. This is a careful balance of biographical information, intellectual history, and college life which deserves to be taken seriously by anyone compelled by these subjects.
Special thanks to my Goodreads friend Lauren who kindly sent me this book (as she generously has so many others).
As the title divulges, this is a book largely concerned very much with what could be called the “cult of manhood” at Harvard between approximately 1865 and 1905, focusing heavily on both the colleagues and students of American philosopher and pragmatist William James. Because of the time period covered, Townsend’s interest is almost exactly coeval with the leadership of Charles William Eliot, Harvard’s longest serving president, from 1869 to 1909. James, Eliot, and Lowell (the President who directly followed Eliot) all believed that Harvard was a kind of intellectual confraternity. This language, both inside and outside the institution of higher education, sounds old-fashioned, and it is. We never hear people speak this way anymore. Depending on who was speaking, there were various amounts of misogyny, imperialism, and racism behind these declarations, with William James being perhaps one of the more liberal and humanistic, and the big, bold blustering of Teddy Roosevelt (class of 1880) holding up the other side of the spectrum.
However, the narrow topic of “manliness at Harvard” is not sustained for the entire book. Townsend is interested in James’ early life, especially the time he spent in his late twenties suffering from what was then identified as “neurasthenia” - what we might today call bipolar disorder or possibly depression. There are judicious interludes describing James’ pragmatism, which I’ve always found a peculiar flurry of Emersonianism and Stoicism. James’ writing has always struck me as having so much that is American in it. Its ability to temporize, its relentless sympathy with religiosity, to create itself anew – these were always attractive qualities. However, I was always put off by its explicit disinterest in metaphysics or ethics, even if I might invariably disagree with its conclusions. Whatever my personal opinions of James’ thought, Townsend has an infectious passion for James the man and James the teacher, as well as Alice (his sister) and Henry Sr. (his father).
Townsend also covers several elements of ordinary college life, especially the sea change in opinion that was occurring in sports. Before the 1860’s, sports were an afterthought at Harvard, a distraction from the scholarly pursuit of Latin, Greek, and Dante. After the Civil War, a decidedly pro-sports faction arose; some were moderate in their advocacy, thinking that a healthy body was just as important as a healthy mind, while others (especially Roosevelt) couldn’t possibly conceive of becoming a man without rowing crew or being on a football team. President Eliot bemoaned the rise of sports, seeing it as an unnecessary incursion into collegiate culture, but suffered it silently for the most part. Townsend also details how Eliot, the great reformer that he was, regretted the rise of specialization and professionalism associated with college education, holding the older, humanist position that it was the duty of every person (that was, for a long time, every man) to better himself through the pursuit of learning, not just of those who wants to crudely utilize their education for monetary gain.
While the central figures are undeniably Eliot and James, the peripheral ones abound: George Santayana, Henry Adams, Nathaniel Shaler, Gertrude Stein (whose passion and interest in James was undying), Teddy Roosevelt, and W. E. B. Du Bois. Even though these people were all at the elite educational institution that Harvard became during the last third of the nineteenth century, it’s still wonderful to think that so many great minds mixed there not so long ago, and the book provides generous excerpts from their letters. Above all, Townsend provides a portrait or a specific time and culture in American history which is truly past. So much of it strikes us modern readers as crude and full of machismo, and we must not make the crucial mistake of being too quick to pass judgment. There is also a lot that inspires and emboldens the imagination here: it would be easy to idealize and romanticize the time and place, even for its many obvious flaws. This is a careful balance of biographical information, intellectual history, and college life which deserves to be taken seriously by anyone compelled by these subjects.
Special thanks to my Goodreads friend Lauren who kindly sent me this book (as she generously has so many others).
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Review of Marcel Mauss' "The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies"
[The above video is mostly a
reading of the text below, with an occasional aside thrown in for good measure
as they strike me as relevant. I welcome
questions, comments, or concerns about the material contained in this video.]
Marcel Mauss’ “The Gift” (1925) is one of the most influential pieces of anthropology written in the twentieth century. It explores the economies of pre-capitalist cultures and peoples from several different parts of the world, including Melanesia, Polynesia, and the Pacific Northwest. This specific edition, with an introduction by Mary Douglas (a magnificent anthropologist in her own right), is especially recommended, and sheds a tremendous amount of light on Mauss’ sometimes unclear conclusions. In fact, if you can’t read the book, Douglas’ introduction stands by itself as a wonderful summary of Mauss’ ideas.
For those interested in the history of anthropology and its development over time, Mauss was one of Durkheim’s greatest students (Durkheim was also Mauss’ uncle) and his influence can be seen quite a bit in this work. While Durkheim believed in the individual and the potential for individual action, he was a vocal critic of individualism per se. For example, he recognized that it couldn’t explain rule-governed action, a phenomenon rife in every culture. Durkheim’s positivism is also on display; Mauss never feels his point is made unless he has shown it several times over with people from different parts of the world.
The main idea here is the centrality of what Mauss calls the “gift.” What is a gift? It is an item given within a complex set of social relations and institutions which at the same time comprises those relations and institutions. Mauss also emphasizes that most all cultures see gifts as obligatory and mutual. “Even the idea of a pure gift is a contradiction. By ignoring the universal custom of compulsory gifts we make our own record incomprehensible to ourselves: right across the globe and as far back as we can go in the history of human civilization, the major transfer of goods has been by cycles of obligatory returns of gifts” (viii). Just as important is the way in which gifts function within an economic system. He even hints at how these “gift economies” softly echo the dynamics of Adam Smith’s invisible hand. “Gift complements market in so far as it operates where the latter is absent” (xiv).
The following quote, again from Douglas’ introduction, is central and important: “Like the market it [the gift] supplies each individual with personal incentives for collaborating in the patter of exchanges. Gifts are given in a context of public drama, with nothing secret about them. In being more directly cued to public esteem, the distribution of honor, and the sanctions of religion, the gift economy is more visible than the market. Just by being visible, the resultant distribution of goods and services is more readily subject to public scrutiny and judgments of fairness than are the results of market exchange. In operating a gift system a people are more aware of what they are doing, as shown by the sacralization for their institutions of giving” (xiv).
As mentioned above, Mauss’ work is exhaustively ethnographic. He talks about the Maori’s concept of the “hau,” or the spirit that inheres in things and that must be passed on. “What imposes obligation in the present received and exchanged is the fact that the thing received is not inactive. Even when it has been abandoned by the giver, it still possesses something of him. Through it the giver has a hold over the beneficiary just as, being its owner, through it he has a hold over the thief” (p. 11-12). Mauss again emphasizes the importance of reciprocity: “In this system of ideas one clearly and logically realized that one must give back to another person what is really part and parcel of his nature and substance, because to accept something from somebody is to accept some part of his spiritual essence, of his soul. To retain that thing would be dangerous and mortal, not only because it would be against law and morality, but also because that thing coming from the person not only morally, but physically and spiritually, that essence, that food, those goods, whether movable or immovable, those women or those descendants, those rituals or those acts of communion – all exert a magical or religious hold over you” (p. 12).
In the second chapter, Mauss discusses the Trobriand people (who are perhaps best known from Malinowski’s ethnographic work “Argonauts of the Western Pacific”). Things look remarkably the same. “At the bottom of this system of internal kula [the Trobriand gift economy], the system of gift-through-exchange permeates all the economic, tribal, and moral life of the Trobriand people. It is ‘impregnated’ with it, as Malinowski very neatly expressed it. It is a constant ‘give and take.’ The process is marked by a continuous flow in all directions of presents given, accepted, and reciprocated, obligatorily and out of self-interest, by reason of greatness and for services rendered, through challenges and pledges” (p. 29).
Many western civilizations seem to have some economies in which item exchange obligatory, and others where it isn’t. Mauss recognizes this, and addresses it. He asks rhetorically, “Yet are not such distinctions fairly recent in the legal systems of our great civilizations? Have these not gone through a previous phase in which they did not display such a cold, calculating mentality? Have they not in fact practiced these customs of the gift that is exchanged, in which persons and things merge?” (p. 47-48). He claims that a more detailed analysis of Indo-European legal theory will indeed show that this transition can be located historically. Whether Mauss ever finds this transition point, at least in this essay, is questionable.
In the last chapter, Mauss attempts to tie the gift economy to trends in social democracy, and here he completely fails, as Douglas again points out in the introduction. He says that the concept of a social safety net provided by the mutual sharing of tax dollars is analogous to the gift economy. However, he completely ignores the coercive power of the modern state in making this comparison. Part of the reason why potlatch confers such honor with many of these people is because the person or family of their own accord decide how much to sacrifice in the act of gift-giving. The state, on the other hand, makes laws, which makes this giving non-obligatory. If you don’t “give,” you must pay the punishment. Mauss’ politics shine through here, but unfortunately they have nothing to do with the topic at hand.
Mauss’ style is dry and demonstrative. Much of the book is taken up with etymologies of Indo-European words, sometimes in a convoluted attempt to support his ideas. Even when the ideas are clearly presented, the translator sometimes leaves many words untranslated, which has you paging back and forth to remind you of their meaning. Thankfully, the book is only around eighty pages. It was a huge influence on Lewis Hyde’s “The Gift: Imagination and the Erotic Life of Property,” which turns thirty this year, and which looks to be much more interesting.
For those interested in the history of anthropology and its development over time, Mauss was one of Durkheim’s greatest students (Durkheim was also Mauss’ uncle) and his influence can be seen quite a bit in this work. While Durkheim believed in the individual and the potential for individual action, he was a vocal critic of individualism per se. For example, he recognized that it couldn’t explain rule-governed action, a phenomenon rife in every culture. Durkheim’s positivism is also on display; Mauss never feels his point is made unless he has shown it several times over with people from different parts of the world.
The main idea here is the centrality of what Mauss calls the “gift.” What is a gift? It is an item given within a complex set of social relations and institutions which at the same time comprises those relations and institutions. Mauss also emphasizes that most all cultures see gifts as obligatory and mutual. “Even the idea of a pure gift is a contradiction. By ignoring the universal custom of compulsory gifts we make our own record incomprehensible to ourselves: right across the globe and as far back as we can go in the history of human civilization, the major transfer of goods has been by cycles of obligatory returns of gifts” (viii). Just as important is the way in which gifts function within an economic system. He even hints at how these “gift economies” softly echo the dynamics of Adam Smith’s invisible hand. “Gift complements market in so far as it operates where the latter is absent” (xiv).
The following quote, again from Douglas’ introduction, is central and important: “Like the market it [the gift] supplies each individual with personal incentives for collaborating in the patter of exchanges. Gifts are given in a context of public drama, with nothing secret about them. In being more directly cued to public esteem, the distribution of honor, and the sanctions of religion, the gift economy is more visible than the market. Just by being visible, the resultant distribution of goods and services is more readily subject to public scrutiny and judgments of fairness than are the results of market exchange. In operating a gift system a people are more aware of what they are doing, as shown by the sacralization for their institutions of giving” (xiv).
As mentioned above, Mauss’ work is exhaustively ethnographic. He talks about the Maori’s concept of the “hau,” or the spirit that inheres in things and that must be passed on. “What imposes obligation in the present received and exchanged is the fact that the thing received is not inactive. Even when it has been abandoned by the giver, it still possesses something of him. Through it the giver has a hold over the beneficiary just as, being its owner, through it he has a hold over the thief” (p. 11-12). Mauss again emphasizes the importance of reciprocity: “In this system of ideas one clearly and logically realized that one must give back to another person what is really part and parcel of his nature and substance, because to accept something from somebody is to accept some part of his spiritual essence, of his soul. To retain that thing would be dangerous and mortal, not only because it would be against law and morality, but also because that thing coming from the person not only morally, but physically and spiritually, that essence, that food, those goods, whether movable or immovable, those women or those descendants, those rituals or those acts of communion – all exert a magical or religious hold over you” (p. 12).
In the second chapter, Mauss discusses the Trobriand people (who are perhaps best known from Malinowski’s ethnographic work “Argonauts of the Western Pacific”). Things look remarkably the same. “At the bottom of this system of internal kula [the Trobriand gift economy], the system of gift-through-exchange permeates all the economic, tribal, and moral life of the Trobriand people. It is ‘impregnated’ with it, as Malinowski very neatly expressed it. It is a constant ‘give and take.’ The process is marked by a continuous flow in all directions of presents given, accepted, and reciprocated, obligatorily and out of self-interest, by reason of greatness and for services rendered, through challenges and pledges” (p. 29).
Many western civilizations seem to have some economies in which item exchange obligatory, and others where it isn’t. Mauss recognizes this, and addresses it. He asks rhetorically, “Yet are not such distinctions fairly recent in the legal systems of our great civilizations? Have these not gone through a previous phase in which they did not display such a cold, calculating mentality? Have they not in fact practiced these customs of the gift that is exchanged, in which persons and things merge?” (p. 47-48). He claims that a more detailed analysis of Indo-European legal theory will indeed show that this transition can be located historically. Whether Mauss ever finds this transition point, at least in this essay, is questionable.
In the last chapter, Mauss attempts to tie the gift economy to trends in social democracy, and here he completely fails, as Douglas again points out in the introduction. He says that the concept of a social safety net provided by the mutual sharing of tax dollars is analogous to the gift economy. However, he completely ignores the coercive power of the modern state in making this comparison. Part of the reason why potlatch confers such honor with many of these people is because the person or family of their own accord decide how much to sacrifice in the act of gift-giving. The state, on the other hand, makes laws, which makes this giving non-obligatory. If you don’t “give,” you must pay the punishment. Mauss’ politics shine through here, but unfortunately they have nothing to do with the topic at hand.
Mauss’ style is dry and demonstrative. Much of the book is taken up with etymologies of Indo-European words, sometimes in a convoluted attempt to support his ideas. Even when the ideas are clearly presented, the translator sometimes leaves many words untranslated, which has you paging back and forth to remind you of their meaning. Thankfully, the book is only around eighty pages. It was a huge influence on Lewis Hyde’s “The Gift: Imagination and the Erotic Life of Property,” which turns thirty this year, and which looks to be much more interesting.
Review of Michael Kammen's "Visual Shock: A History of Art Controversies in American Culture"
[The above video is mostly a
reading of the text below, with an occasional aside thrown in for good measure
as they strike me as relevant. I welcome
questions, comments, or concerns about the material contained in this video.]
“Visual Shock” purports to be nothing less than a history of art controversies in American culture. Its scope is extensive, dating all the way back to the beginning of the nineteenth century and the construction of the Washington Monument, coming up through the more recent contretemps over work of Robert Mapplethorpe and Andres Serrano. The chapters are organized topically, and cover much of the ground that you would expect such a comprehensive history to deal with: the introduction of modern art into the United States, public sculpture, murals, the politicization of art and art funding, and even changing aspects of American museology.
One of the problems with the book is that whole libraries have been written on any one of these subjects. Reading Kammen’s book, I was reminded of a distinction all too familiar to computer scientists: that of data and information. Data is raw, unprocessed, unfiltered, and if some serious work isn’t done on it, pretty useless. Information on the other hand, has had some sort of heuristic applied to it in such a way that it now can communicate something important. Unfortunately, Kammen’s book is all data and almost no information.
The sheer number of names, projects, commissions, provincial politicians, and kvetching letters to the editor that the reader encounters is impressive enough. You get quick, superficial accounts of Karen Finley, Judy Chicago’s famous “Dinner Party,” Chris Ofili, the huge metal pieces of Richard Serra, the bombastic denunciations against modern art by McCarthyist Michigan Congressman George Dondero, the protest art of the sixties and seventies, and the palpable drive for museums to put on more and more extreme exhibits, often sacrificing the quality of art shown, for the sole purpose of pulling in more money. Most of these take up perhaps a few pages – barely enough to introduce the reader to the piece being considered - before Kammen moves on to something else that catches his attention.
Even given Kammen’s distracting lack of narrative drive and insistence on including everything under the sun, there are some recurring themes and questions. When should taxpayer dollars be expended on art, and when shouldn’t they be? Should nudity or the “ability to offend” a section of the viewing public have any relevance to this question? (Kammen, to his credit, does include some interesting polling of the general public on these questions, but as with most everything else, he covers it breathlessly in a few sentences and quickly moves on.) He also discusses several commissions during the Great Depression, and some of the factors that determined how the public reacted to them – this was one of the most successful parts of the book.
One is left with the underwhelming and unsurprising conclusion that most of the public is at best befuddled and at worst disgusted by modern art. However, instead of building critically on that observation or going one step beyond what any relatively informed reader could have already told you, he leaves it there. The level of analysis or integrative thought behind the whole project is sorely lacking, which goes back to what I said about data and information earlier. Writing a book like this consists just as much in knowing what you’re not going to include as what you are, and that filter just doesn’t seem to be there.
On a more prosaic note, in the early chapters, pictures are included when necessary – for those of you who can’t visually conjure Hiram Powers’ “The Greek Slave” from memory (I know some of you are out there). However, Kammen also refers to the work of several names I mentioned above, and no pictures are included. Perhaps he couldn’t get the relevant artist’s or museum’s permission, but this is too sizable an oversight in a book that deals with art, much of which the reader may never have seen. For both this reason and others discussed above, it may be best to completely overlook this unless you’re looking for the most general, cursory discussions of the topic. And even then, I’m sure you can find something better than this.
One of the problems with the book is that whole libraries have been written on any one of these subjects. Reading Kammen’s book, I was reminded of a distinction all too familiar to computer scientists: that of data and information. Data is raw, unprocessed, unfiltered, and if some serious work isn’t done on it, pretty useless. Information on the other hand, has had some sort of heuristic applied to it in such a way that it now can communicate something important. Unfortunately, Kammen’s book is all data and almost no information.
The sheer number of names, projects, commissions, provincial politicians, and kvetching letters to the editor that the reader encounters is impressive enough. You get quick, superficial accounts of Karen Finley, Judy Chicago’s famous “Dinner Party,” Chris Ofili, the huge metal pieces of Richard Serra, the bombastic denunciations against modern art by McCarthyist Michigan Congressman George Dondero, the protest art of the sixties and seventies, and the palpable drive for museums to put on more and more extreme exhibits, often sacrificing the quality of art shown, for the sole purpose of pulling in more money. Most of these take up perhaps a few pages – barely enough to introduce the reader to the piece being considered - before Kammen moves on to something else that catches his attention.
Even given Kammen’s distracting lack of narrative drive and insistence on including everything under the sun, there are some recurring themes and questions. When should taxpayer dollars be expended on art, and when shouldn’t they be? Should nudity or the “ability to offend” a section of the viewing public have any relevance to this question? (Kammen, to his credit, does include some interesting polling of the general public on these questions, but as with most everything else, he covers it breathlessly in a few sentences and quickly moves on.) He also discusses several commissions during the Great Depression, and some of the factors that determined how the public reacted to them – this was one of the most successful parts of the book.
One is left with the underwhelming and unsurprising conclusion that most of the public is at best befuddled and at worst disgusted by modern art. However, instead of building critically on that observation or going one step beyond what any relatively informed reader could have already told you, he leaves it there. The level of analysis or integrative thought behind the whole project is sorely lacking, which goes back to what I said about data and information earlier. Writing a book like this consists just as much in knowing what you’re not going to include as what you are, and that filter just doesn’t seem to be there.
On a more prosaic note, in the early chapters, pictures are included when necessary – for those of you who can’t visually conjure Hiram Powers’ “The Greek Slave” from memory (I know some of you are out there). However, Kammen also refers to the work of several names I mentioned above, and no pictures are included. Perhaps he couldn’t get the relevant artist’s or museum’s permission, but this is too sizable an oversight in a book that deals with art, much of which the reader may never have seen. For both this reason and others discussed above, it may be best to completely overlook this unless you’re looking for the most general, cursory discussions of the topic. And even then, I’m sure you can find something better than this.
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