There is No Such Thing as an Objective, Clearly Correct, Interpretation of Scripture

Just a thought regarding interpretation of the Bible or any ancient text, which grew out of a conversation I had with some friends. The initial conversation was about white Evangelicalism’s inability to show basic empathy for those outside the tribe, but my friends joined in on the question of theology.

My view is that Bill Gothard was right about one thing: morality drives theology, rather than the other way around. It was a need to justify slavery and later Jim Crow that formed American Evangelical theology in the first place, which is why it seems designed to justify cruelty. In my view, thus, the cure isn’t to just try a more literalist or serious hermeneutic - we have to address the underlying evil that drives the interpretation. And that’s how we got off on the question of whether there is one “objective” way to approach scripture (and thus guarantee “correct” theology.) This is my response:

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While some interpretations are better than others, there is no such thing as an objective, exclusively, obviously correct interpretation. Each of us must grapple with the following points at which subjectivity is inevitable:

1. Our own interpretation as we read. Each of us brings our own biases to a reading. Many of these are ones we are completely unaware of, while a few are ones we know, and can thus attempt to compensate for. Each of us, when we read, interpret certain words and phrases in light of our theological upbringing and tradition. We just assume the meaning of them to be thus and such. Not just the literal meaning of the words, but also the theological meaning of them. Furthermore, we apply the meanings that apply in our culture to our reading. Just as one example, “marriage” as we understand it – even a Victorian understanding – is so different from the understanding under the Greco-Roman Domestic Codes that a person from that era would be unable to recognize our institution as the same thing. Likewise, an observer from the Ancient Near East would be unable to recognize a Greco-Roman marriage as the same institution. So when we see “marriage” in a text, how we apply that to a vastly different situation is by definition an act of interpretation. That is just one example. We do that with pretty much everything we read. To read is to interpret.

And that is even before we get to the real challenge: how do we live in imitation of Christ in our modern world? (And in light of vast political, economic, cultural, scientific, and social changes in the last 2000 years.) Unfortunately, as far as I can tell, this crucial task has mostly been outsourced by Evangelicals to Fox News and Breitbart lately; which explains why “morality” seems to mean sexual moralism, Tribalism, and Ayn Rand economics.  

2. The interpretations of those who determined our theological tradition. For any Evangelical (or Christian of any theological tradition, for that matter) to claim that he or she is reading objectively, without depending on the specific theological and interpretive decisions made by those who founded their tradition is silly. None of us raised in that tradition (or any other) read the Bible with an open mind. We took for granted the teachings of people from Luther to Calvin to Spurgeon to…in many cases Henry Morris and Ken Ham. The interpretations these people made was also NOT objective. They were products of their own time, had their own prejudices, and so on. In many (probably most) cases, the cultural needs of their time and place drove their interpretation. (See slavery and Jim Crow, for example. Or reaction to Darwin.) Far more of what we believe the Bible says is actually what certain people our tradition follows believed it said. So our interpretations are colored by the interpretations of those who went before.

3. The interpretations of those who translated the English version we read. Anyone who thinks that this doesn’t matter displays their ignorance. Translation is an act of interpretation, even for modern texts. (Read two versions of, say Pablo Neruda, or Rainer Maria Rilke, if you have any doubts. Or check out the numerous translations of Inferno as I did in this post.) In every translation, decisions as to meaning must be made. Many of these are relatively uncontroversial, but in certain areas of doctrine, they can make a huge difference. (An example here is the KJV and the use of “deacon” when men are involved and “servant” where women are involved. Same word, different translation. And EVERY translation has some of these.) This isn’t a new problem. Research the Latin Vulgate, or the Septuagint. Each has significant differences from modern translations and the earliest manuscripts. The problem is compounded for ancient texts, because the meanings of words have been lost or obscured in many cases. Some words are unique to the Bible (including some of the ones in the New Testament.) Decisions about what these mean are a matter of interpretation – and controversy. When we read an ancient text translated into English, we are experiencing a layer of interpretation, not an objective reading of a text.

4. The interpretations of the scribes and copyists throughout history – and those who decided what to include in the collection.  This may come as a shock to those used to thinking of the Bible as a monolithic object, but there ARE no originals for the books contained in the Bible. We don’t have the original manuscript of ANY of it. That includes the New Testament, for which the oldest (small fragments) date only back to about 125 CE. Full books date back to no earlier than 200 CE, and some (like the Pastoral Epistles) do not appear until even later. And that is before you get to the question of what actually got included in our version of the NT - and what was omitted. This final process didn’t really finish until quite a bit later. In fact, determining what was “true” scripture seems not to have been a priority. Erasmus in the 16th Century CE put together the first printed Greek New Testament – and he had to make compromises between several versions. Until the Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered (fairly recently…), the most modern Hebrew manuscripts we had dated to about 1000 CE. That’s the Middle Ages. We have copies dating back to various times and places. These copies are not identical, and in some cases differ on very important words and phrases. To a historian or anthropologist, this is unsurprising. But it underscores the fact that even copying stuff is an interpretive act. 

 Early fragment (c. 125 CE) from the Gospel of John

 Part of Isaiah from the Dead Sea Scrolls. 

I got to see these in person when they came to San Diego several years ago. Amazing.

And that is just for the written version. The evidence is overwhelming that the Old Testament wasn’t actually written down until centuries after most of the historical (or legendary in some cases) events would have taken place. Rather, the written documents seem to have appeared in (more or less) their current form around the time of the exile or post-exilic periods, depending on the book. Quite likely, these were edits and compilations of earlier texts (now lost) which were in turn taken from oral histories.

That’s a lot of interpretation right there. Someone (multiple someones, actually) decided to write down the stories. Many other persons edited, compiled, and selected them later. (And yes, this goes for the New Testament too – there was a lot of discussion about what was in or out, and humans made those decisions – an act of interpretation.) In essence, the whole process was a massive, long term project of interpretation. Ancient writers understood this, and, in fact, made changes for theological purposes as they went. (See, for one example, the differences in the histories in Samuel and Kings versus that in Chronicles. There are significant - and intentional - differences.)

5. The interpretations of the authors. Yeah, I know, Evangelicals will consider me a heretic for this one. Sorry. I can’t deny history and, well, the evidence of the text itself. The Bible isn’t a single book, literally dictated by God. It is a collection of books, written over a few thousand years, by humans. Yes, I believe these humans were inspired. (But the meaning of “inspired” is really loaded, isn’t it?) But there are too many disagreements and things that are not factually true for me to believe that they were a literal dictation, which would require a highly fallible God. (This ranges from math to science to history to theology. One of my epiphanies was to realize that the Bible is an argument between different theological perspectives rather than a unified systematic text.) But it should be kind of obvious that the authors themselves interpreted their inspiration based on their own culture and knowledge. Hence, the opening chapters of Genesis naturally are a retelling of an earlier Ancient Near East creation myth. Of course they assume ANE cosmology, rather than reflect a modern understanding of the universe. Of course Saint Paul assumes the fact of the Domestic Codes and the existence of slavery. Of course genocide was considered normal. In my view (and that of many others with a lot more knowledge in the area than me), God has always met us where we are. On a related note, I also don’t believe God has ceased to speak. Revelation didn’t magically end at the end of the 4th Century CE. We still have things to learn about a variety of subjects, including theology, and not all of those things will be in the Bible – any more than modern astrophysics is in there.

So before you assume that you somehow have the correct, objective reading of a text, consider that you are depending on at least five layers of interpretation. Maybe you are correct, but it isn’t inevitable. And there is nothing about your particular time in history or culture that allows you to see more clearly than either those who came before or those who will come after. We will, in my view, be wrong about many things, just as those who came before were. Likewise, by believing that some objective, unquestionably correct interpretation is possible, we make the Bible into an idol, something we worship and serve, rather than seeking to humbly follow Christ. It takes us ever further away from loving our neighbor, and ever less likely to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly.

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I understand why Evangelicals fight this so hard: they have a theological - and psychological - need for the Bible to be something it isn’t. They need it to be a literally dictated, completely perfect, instruction book; with systematic theology to be discovered, rules for every situation, and without contradiction or argument. They need proof-texts to show the correctness of their views at every turn - something unassailable to competing arguments - something that will shut down opposing viewpoints.

That’s not the Bible we have. We have a Bible written by humans over at least a thousand years, with competing theological perspectives - indeed arguments. We have horrific Ancient Near East morality - genocides, women treated as chattel, slaughter of innocent children, slavery, and more. But we also have many beautiful things: a passionate concern for justice (including economic and social justice), deeply human stories, a profound poem about the problem of evil, early existentialism, gorgeous poetry, biting satire, and - most important - Christ himself. We have a radical, completely unexpected shift from the Torah as all-important, to a suffering Messiah who renders the very signs of being God’s people rendered irrelevant. At every point, our book is obviously of its time, while retaining (as the best books written do) a timeless quality that remains relevant to us today. Above all, it is a story. A story of God’s interaction with man throughout history - written by the men (and perhaps women) who earnestly sought the Divine.

Seen in that light, the Bible works. Seen as an instruction book, or treatise on systematic theology, it just doesn’t.

But for Evangelicals, their entire theological structure - and their sense of morality - depends on their delusion that they possess the One True Interpretation of the Holy Writ™, and without that, all they really have is their sexual moralism and commitment to toxic Republican politics.

I have come to realize that this is nothing less than idolatry. Bible-olatry. The veneration of an object - and one that doesn’t really even exist.

In fact, what they really worship is their preferred interpretation of said object. They worship their beliefs about God and the Bible.

And I also have come to realize that it is in fact a distraction. If they ceased to worship their interpretation of the Bible, they might have to actually look at the way that they have ignored the teachings and example of Christ - and see how horribly cruel they are to their fellow humans. That part is too uncomfortable to bear. So they fight tooth and nail to preserve their idol.

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Just a thought here: there have been a lot of really horrid interpretations of scripture in the past. The Bible has been cited to justify the Crusades, witch burning, the Native American Genocide, slavery, the denial of rights to women, the dehumanizing of others, Jim Crow, and in our own time, the unholy political alliance of Evangelicalism and the agenda of the Ku Klux Klan.

Each and every time, many of those who did evil truly believed they had the correct interpretation. As C. S. Lewis noted, the worst form of government is theocracy, because nobody is as capable of doing horrific evil as one who believes he does it in the name of God.

Nothing wrong with theology or pursuit of better interpretations. But history casts grave doubt on the idea that becoming better, embracing good and rejecting evil, is the inevitable result of trying to read the Bible with a more literal, detailed, and hermeneutically “correct” method. If anything, the opposite is true. The more obsessed we become with getting our beliefs right in every detail, the less our faith is focused on following Christ’s example. The more we focus on our theological structure, the less time and energy we have to take Christ’s command to love our neighbor seriously. The more we think of salvation and conversion as a mental agreement with doctrine, the less we are interested in doing for the “least of these” what we would do for Christ himself. Considering that Christ taught that our eternal destiny depended on this, I would think we might at least take that part seriously - and work on figuring out how to put those words into practice in our own world, rather than spend our time arguing about the details of justification. Just saying.

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By the way, my viewpoint about subjectivity and the five layers of interpretation are hardly controversial outside the Evangelical/Fundamentalist bubble. It is actually uncontroversial among serious bible scholars, archaeologists, historians, literature scholars, and so on. Even relatively conservative bible scholars acknowledge this subjectivity. It really is only those who are wedded to their own infallibility as interpreters who need the delusion of objectivity. And, realistically, this is a particular problem for American Fundamentalists, who need this idolatrous view of the Bible as their defense mechanism against modern understandings of reality.

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So how DO I approach scripture? Well, first, I recommend reading my three part series on Christianity and Culture:

Christianity and Culture PART 1: Asking the Right Questions

Christianity and Culture PART 2: Culture and Scripture

Christianity and Culture PART 3: How We Evaluate Morality in the Context of Culture

Second, Peter Enns should probably be credited with a significant role in the preservation of my faith over the last 5 years. People like him are examples of Christians who don’t suffer from the Evangelical/Fundamentalist allergy to reality and fact. This recent post gives his five principles for interpretation, and I find them persuasive.

Why I Interpret the Bible the Way I Do

Third, in exploring the way Christians outside the Evangelical/Fundamentalist bubble, I discovered that the literalist/theonomic approach is by no means the only way to approach scripture. In fact, it is mostly an historical anomaly. Perhaps my favorite formulation of a more balanced approach is that of the Wesleyan Quadrilateral.

Scripture, Tradition, Reason, and Experience. Each of the four fit together and work together. In some areas, experience and reason provide better information than the others, and vice versa. Our knowledge of the natural world, for example, is better obtained by reading God’s world, rather than the writings of the ancients. On the other hand, scripture is the best source we have for the words of Christ as recalled and written down by his followers. Church tradition can give helpful guidance on how certain issues have been handled in the past, and what has and has not been beneficial in religious observance and Christian practice. Experience is both about our relationship with God in the present, and about how we interact with our fellow humans. Empathy should serve as a valuable source of information - we live in community, not as isolated individuals. In a global world, this means we cannot merely dehumanize others and reject their needs and experiences as irrelevant. It all works together. And each is relevant in how we interpret the other.

Note that the Wesleyan Quadrillateral is no modern, atheistic, relativistic [insert favorite Fundamentalist slur against outsiders here] idea: it came from the devout John Wesley hundreds of years ago.  

Play it Loud by Brad Tolinski and Alan DiPerna

Source of book: Borrowed from the library

Ever since I saw this book in a bookstore in Sebastopol, I have been wanting to read it. I decided not to buy it, as I have limited remaining room in my library, and thus have tried to limit myself to stuff our local library doesn’t have - or books I anticipate being read by more than one member of my household.

It was definitely worth the read. But for the same reasons I enjoyed it, I doubt anyone else in my family would care.

I started playing guitar in my teens for the same reason I learned drums my freshman year of high school: because it was needed. Violin is and will always be my first and greatest love. I had a passion for it as soon as I realized it was possible for me to learn to play it, and still love to feel the strings beneath my fingers.

But I also enjoy playing other instruments. Because the small church we were attending at the time didn’t have a guitarist, I bought myself a little red electric, a tiny amp, and a chorus pedal, and learned a few chords. I eventually got an acoustic, and some far better instruments and amps, but that was after I had more disposable income. So I care a bit about guitars in general, and electric guitars in particular. I’m no lead player, but I’m decent as a rhythm guitarist and backup vocalist. Plus, I can make that fiddle sing…

(For those who care, current rig: Ovation Standard Balladeer 12 String Acoustic, Yamaha Pacifica Tele style, Epiphone ES-335 Dot. Peavey Prowler tube amp, mostly just guitar-cable-amp. Yeah, I'm a bit of a non-conformist.) 

The authors of this book trace the development of the electric guitar from George Beauchamp’s invention of the first functional guitar pickup - and the “frying pan” electric guitar, through the great names everyone knows, to the present-day garage revivalists playing cheap plastic crap from the 1960s. Along the way, the book discusses revolutionary players such as Charlie Christian, Les Paul, Muddy Waters, Clapton, Hendrix, Pete Townshend, Freddie King, Jimmy Page, Carlos Santana, Chuck Berry - and so many other greats of jazz and rock.

But the real focus is on the instruments themselves. Any guitarist can immediately conjure up the iconic images. The Fender Stratocaster and Telecaster, the Gibson Les Paul and SC and Flying V, the Gretsch 6120, the ES-335, the Casino, the Rickenbacker 360, the GEM, the PRS. True devotees will know many more of the historical and modern day axes in this book. In general, guitars get the spotlight, not amplifiers, although these too are crucial to the sound. The authors choose to mention the two that they felt made the most revolutionary changes to guitar performance: the VOX AC15/AC30, and the Marshall stack. It is hard to disagree with this, although I am partial to the old Fenders myself.

The book is also fairly heavy on the biographical details of the men who designed the most innovative and influential instruments. This makes sense in light of the specific focus of the books. Certain musicians - usually the ones whose biographies are less well known despite their importance to the development of guitar technique - also get longer treatments. I mean, everyone knows the Beatles and Eric Clapton - but despite Charlie Christian essentially kickstarting the use of the electric guitar in jazz and blues, fewer people know his name. In this, the authors help highlight the lives of those who suffer from undeserved obscurity.

Another decision that the authors made was to give equal importance to the African American greats who drove the development of the electric guitar and its crucial role in rock, blues, jazz, and pop. From the beginning, white America has had an uneasy relationship to the most truly American forms of music. As early as the 1890s, Czech composer Antonin Dvorak predicted that America would not find its true musical voice until it embraced the sounds of Negro spirituals and Native American music. He would prove to be correct, as Ragtime, Jazz, Blues, Rock and Roll, and Hip Hop would become the American sounds that have swept the globe.

In the very opening of the book, the authors describe Benny Goodman’s decision to incorporate works by African American composers into his sets, essentially mainstreaming Jazz. But also, a crucial role was played by John Hammond, a talent scout for Goodman and others, who “discovered” Count Basie and Billie Holiday. It was Hammond who found Charlie Christian and convinced Goodman to incorporate the electric sound into his band.

Hammond was a true champion for racial equality during a time when the 2nd KKK was resurgent, and did much to break down color lines. While he obviously couldn’t fix Jim Crow singlehandedly, he did manage to place black musicians in front of white audiences - truly the first crack to show in the wall of segregation. As Hammond put it, “To bring recognition to the Negro’s supremacy in jazz was the most effective and constructive form of social protest I could think of.”

One of the tragedies of the history of American music is that white musicians would profit far more from African American music than its inventors would. But the silver lining is that music was an important bridge across the gap. For us musicians, music is a universal language, a language that shatters the walls our culture builds, and makes connections that push back against prejudice.

To some degree, this is the story of this book. The electric guitar has always been an expression of rebellion against the old rules, against the old ways of thinking, against arbitrary boxes.

If you are interested in guitars, this book will be fascinating. If you care about the history of music, it will be a pleasant read. Even if you don’t play, you might find something new and interesting in this book.

I’ll end with a quote from Keith Richards:

“Guitar is easy. All it takes is five fingers, six strings, and one asshole.”

***

One of the hardest parts about breaking up with Evangelicalism has been losing the opportunity to play my guitars regularly. Unfortunately, I am not optimistic that this part of my life will come back. I cannot see ever attending an Evangelical church again - it’s a bridge too far morally and theologically these days. While mainline denominations aren’t all organs and hymns anymore, they still tend to skew old and traditional. Nothing wrong with that. Worship matters, not the form. But more than that, after the way I was thrown under the bus on the way out, I am going to have a really hard time trusting enough to put myself in a ministry position again. So, realistically, perhaps once the kids are grown, I may have to find some other old farts to jam with for fun.

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Sorry, that’s kind of heavy. Let’s end with some Ray Stevens:

The Little Book of Black Holes by Steven Gruber and Frans Pretorius

Source of book: Borrowed from the library

Occasionally, when I am at the library, I find a science related book to bring home for my 12 year old son. He is very much into science and technology, and finds these books fun, even when they aren’t exactly aimed at kids. In this case, this book was on the new books shelf and looked interesting. He read it first, and I thought it looked worth a read. Having read it, I am sure the math parts (and some of the science) were a bit over his head - but I have learned that he picks up a surprising amount from books like this. I am sure I will hear about it later.

In general, I am fascinated with astrophysics and astronomy, even if my limited math skills (I never did get to calculus) make some of the specifics hard to grasp. Previous selections include Phil Plait’s excellent and accessible Death From The Skies and David Weintraub’s more detailed How Old Is The Universe? In this connection, I should also mention The Hunt for Vulcan, about the way that an anomaly in Mercury’s orbit led to the discovery of relativity and a new theory of spacetime. In many ways, this book takes up the topic where the previous one left off.

This book is fairly short, and focused on one particular topic: Black holes.

One of the paradoxes of black holes are that they (by definition) cannot be “seen” in the traditional sense. Since light (electromagnetic radiation) cannot escape the event horizon, one cannot “see” the object at all. Instead, their existence is shown by two things: math, and their effect on objects we can see.

It was interesting that the math came first. One of the most amazing things about the universe is that it was written in the language of mathematics. Indeed, many discoveries have postdated the mathematics necessary to understand them. (Love and Math by Edward Frenkel is a fantastic book on this subject.) In this case, the existence of objects with the characteristics of black holes was mathematically predicted as early as the immediate aftermath of Einstein’s theories of relativity. Our technology, however, wasn’t yet able to provide the observational evidence.

Later, as our telescopes got better, and especially after we put them in space, we were able to observe the gravitational effects of black holes. Specifically, we were able to observe binary systems where the only explanation that worked was a black hole. (And later, the calculations of how galaxies like our own worked showed that a supermassive black hole was necessary at the center.)

More recently - and practically - evidence of gravitational waves and gravitational redshift (both predictions of general relativity) has been proven thoroughly. In fact, GPS has to take into account special and general relativity AND gravitational redshift in order to be accurate. A rather small force turns out to mean a lot even at short distances.

This book takes you through the theoretics, the observations, and some really, really crazy theoretical physics at the end. After all, despite the event horizon and all, black holes DO leak energy, and the way this works is pretty dang mind blowing.

The book is written by Steven Gruber and Frans Pretorius, both of whom are physics professors at Princeton. It is no surprise that they know their stuff. But they also write quite well, explaining tough concepts in an understandable way, without talking down to the reader. Gruber also wrote The Little Book of String Theory, which might have to go on my list.

Whether you start with this book really depends on your existing knowledge. If you glazed over at “event horizon,” this is probably not the place to start. Get a copy of Death From the Skies - or maybe a high school level astronomy textbook. If event horizons are okay, but you can’t remember what pulsars, quasars, and neutron stars are, you might want to read How Old is the Universe? to get a better overview of stellar objects in general. That book will also help with the math and physics of how we know there is an expanding universe, how we judge distances, and how we use math and observance to figure stuff out.

But, with a good background, this book is really quite fascinating. As some have pointed out (particularly in the wake of Stephen Hawking’s death), we haven’t ever “seen” a black hole, but we have strong evidence that they exist, and that they have specific characteristics and effects on the rest of the universe.

The River Between Us by Richard Peck

Source of book: Audiobook from the library

Since my middle daughter introduced us to Richard Peck about 5 years ago, we have greatly enjoyed his books. He writes with a broad range, from historical fiction to modern ghost stories to Victorian mice to slapstick. Here are our previous selections:

Here Lies the Librarian

A Long Way From Chicago

The Mouse With the Question Mark Tail

Past Perfect Present Tense

Secrets at Sea

The Teacher’s Funeral

A Year Down Yonder

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The River Between Us is a historical novel, set in two distinct periods of American history. The framing story is from 1916. Fifteen year old Howard takes a trip with his father and twin brothers to visit his grandparents and aunt and uncle in Grand Tower, Illinois. Old Doctor Hutchings served in the Civil War as a Union surgeon. His wife, Tilly, and her twin brother Noah (who lost an arm in the war), and Aunt Delphine make up the rest of the household living alone in a house on a ridge called the Devil’s Backbone.

During this visit, Howard listens to Tilly talk about the war and how they all came to live there together. The bulk of the book is her story. (In the audiobook version, two narrators are used: Lina Patel and Daniel Passer.)

Tilly and Noah, their mother, and their younger sister Cass lived in the house at the outset of the war. Dad had long since abandoned them, and they were considered kind of outcasts in the town. One day, soon after the war starts, two young women get off a steamboat. Delphine is pale, but with dark eyes and hair. Calinda is darker. They are from New Orleans, and speak with a French accent. For most of the book, their relationship is a mystery - as is their secret.

It is later, when Noah has joined the Union forces, and come down with a nasty illness, that Tilly and Delphine travel to Cairo (not the Egyptian one) to care for him. While there, Delphine is outed as what she is: one of the gens de couleur libre - free people of color. I was only passingly familiar with the story of these people, and what I knew mostly came from the biographical information of Alexandre Dumas. Not too many know that he was the grandson of slaves.

The gens de couleur libres were generally former slaves that had been granted freedom (although some were runaways that managed to stay free), generally because of an, ahem, arrangement. A wealthy white man would keep a pretty black woman as a mistress, maintaining her and their children in style, while living with his legitimate wife and their children. The sons were often sent to France for education - many of them stayed, although some were given property. The daughters were expected to follow the family path: find a wealthy white man to support her, and live as a mistress.

Richard Peck doesn’t sugarcoat this reality at all in this book. There is nothing graphic, of course - this is a book for children or teens - but the nature of the arrangement is all too clear.

The other thing that Peck doesn’t back away from is the reality of “passing.” Delphine can (and does) pass for white. Calinda cannot. But even Delphine is at risk of being “outed” as black. During the Jim Crow era, the “one drop” rule meant that she risked a lot, up to and including her life. Her status as free before the war mattered not. As a bigoted character gloats, once the North won the war, the gens de couleur libres would be no better than any common slave.

As in his other books, Peck is a master of the setting. Everything is brought to life with economic yet evocative writing. Peck also treats the moral dilemmas with a light touch. His books are never preachy - but they often pack a wallop. Whether it is racism, class prejudice, sexism, bullying, or sexuality, Peck shows rather than tells. At regular intervals in this book (and in most of his others), there are some devastating moments when things become all too clear. After every book, I have come away thinking about how deftly he handles situations and people. He is a simply wonderful writer, and his books are good literature, not simply good books for kids. One of the reasons that Peck’s books seem ageless is that he doesn’t ever talk down. He assumes kids can handle hard stuff. Death, mental illness, bigotry, violence, and such like are things that exist. Kids already know that. But many adults prefer to pretend they don’t. Peck knows better, and addresses stuff head on, but with compassion and realism and an optimism that isn’t foolish.

The River Between Us is an outstanding book, and one I recommend. My kids love Richard Peck too, and read (and re-read) these books and more every time we go to the library. (My boys are particularly fond of the Grandma Dowdle stories - with good reason.) Peck is getting up there in years, but continues to write - and we are glad he did.

The audiobook versions have been a bit of a mixed bag. This one was fine. Others have been less good, notably Here Lies the Librarian, which is an excellent book, but a kind of annoying narrator.

The Home-Maker by Dorothy Canfield Fisher

Source of book: I own this.

Every March for the past 5 years, I have read a selection for Women’s History Month. I have generally chosen works connected with Feminism. Although demonized by the Cultural Fundamentalist circles I was raised in (and sadly by an increasingly reactionary and fundamentalist Evangelicalism as well), it really shouldn’t be controversial. Feminism is simply this:

The Cultural, Political, and Economic Equality of men and women.

Of course, the problem with this for many is that this idea is anathema to them. Their worldview depends on a structural inequality of the sexes, one where men control the institutions of power and the money we use as a means of exchange. In order to justify this, they cling to ideas of a congenital inferiority of women (whatever euphemisms they use to deny this), whereby women are unfit for leadership, or even control of their own lives and destinies.

Here are my selections for previous years:

Are Women Human? By Dorothy Sayers (2014)

A Vindication of the Rights of Women by Mary Wollstonecraft (2015)

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood (2016)

Woman Lawyer: The Trials of Clara Foltz by Barbara Babcock (2017)

***

This is a book my wife suggested I read. She read it a few years back, and realized that it in many ways describes our own marriage.

The plot is pretty simple. Evangeline and Lester are the parents of three children. The family is, shall we say, deeply unhappy. Lester works in finance at a department store, and absolutely hates his job. He dropped out of college to marry Evangeline, and never did get to be the English teacher he probably should have been. In any case, he likes poetry and children, and hates commerce and capitalistic striving. Evangeline is razor-sharp, type A, driven, and is being driven insane by her domestic duties. The children are in varying states of dysfunction as well. Henry’s digestion is wrecked by stress, Helen suffers debilitating lack of confidence, and Stephen obliterates rules with a savage ferocity.

Lester is passed over for a promotion in favor of a younger man, then loses his job altogether. He considers suicide, and has his opportunity when he is asked to help with a neighbor’s chimney repair. But he can’t even succeed at this: he ends up paralyzed from the waist down instead.

Since the family must be fed, Evangeline takes things into her own hands, and scores a sales job at the store. She is thoroughly suited for it, and quickly rises into management. Lester, in the meantime, finds his own calling as a “homemaker.” Sure, he can’t scrub the floors into oblivion like Eva did, but he is a natural with the children, and a little paid help on the most physical tasks takes care of that.

In short, the reversal of gender roles makes everyone happy. Well, except for all the judgy neighbors and relatives who are sure that this is all in defiance of the Way Things Should Be™ - and Divine Command™.

The Home-Maker was published in...wait for it...1926. That’s pretty darn close to 100 years ago. To be sure, it was ahead of its time. But it is also, in my opinion and experience, ahead of OUR time too, in many ways.

Before I get to that, let me mention some of the most perceptive passages in this book. First is one where the ladies guild (essentially the gossip gals) talk about Eva.

“Poor thing. She has so many burdens to bear. Mrs. Prouty often says that in these days it is wonderful to see a woman so devoted to her duty as a home-maker. She simply gives up her whole life to her family! Absolutely!”

And it is true. Eva focuses all her energy on her home and family. Which means her house is spotless, and her kids are so micromanaged that they are falling to pieces as a result. The thing is, this IS the expectation placed on Fundie women. I know. I have seen it. My wife lived it in many ways as a teen. (She was excommunicated from the cultic group when she went to college. Her parents have always supported her in this, but she lost what few relationships she had with her peers in that group over her refusal to be a home-maker only.)  I wish I could say this is limited to the cultic fringe. But it isn’t. Women are to a significant degree expected to give up their entire lives and personhoods to their families, both in our culture at large (although less than before) and particularly in an increasingly fundamentalist Evangelicalism. Pretty much universally, a woman’s worth will be judged by her status as a mother and as a home-maker, rather than her other qualities. (Okay, and her adherence to cultural beauty and modesty standards.) She will never get full credit for breadwinning like a man will.

Another thing to mention in this context: I do believe there is a significant correlation between helicopter parenting (and specifically women who take their entire identity from their mothering and have no other outlet) and sickly children. Let me be clear: obviously this isn’t the whole story. I was sickly and that is why I ended up homeschooled - which required my mom to stay home. Likewise, I know plenty of parents whose children have legitimate medical issues, from birth defects to diabetes. I get it. Not all illness is caused by stress and overparenting. But there is enough of a correlation that I do believe that a significant proportion of it is connected. A woman needing an outlet for her energies will find it. If there isn’t one outside the home, chances are, she will find one inside it, and this is rarely healthy, in my experience. I blame a lot of the shift toward cultural separation that plagues the American (white) church on this. Mothers who had to work to support the family would have little time to obsess about every detail of what their children are exposed to, bacterially or culturally.

Another passage in which Fisher absolutely nails it is this: Lester is perceptive enough to notice that his children are suffering. But he also knows that he has absolutely no right to say anything. Why not? Because he is a financial failure.

Well, he was bound and gagged to complete helplessness about everything in his life and his children’s lives, bound and gagged by his inability to make money. Only men who made money had any right to say how things should go in their homes. A man who couldn’t make money had no rights of any kind which a white man was bound to respect - nor a white woman either. Especially a white woman. The opinion of a man who couldn’t make money was of no value, on any subject, in anybody’s eyes.

 This is exactly the point. Anyone passingly familiar with history is aware that brown-skinned women (and immigrants, and low income women in general) have ALWAYS been expected to work. And work hard, grueling jobs for long hours. Being a “home-maker” has always been a privilege of upper-class (and eventually middle class) white women. It is a signal of privilege and wealth - but spun into a “virtue” like everything else connected with money in this country.

In fact, Fisher makes the other point here that male “virtue” has always been spelled “m-o-n-e-y.” This is one of the key explanations for how a morally appalling man can be excused - and elected to a high position. He has money. And that is evidence of his virtue. And, in contrast, a man without money lacks virtue. He has failed in his only truly important task, which is to make money. That this also justifies contempt for the poor and for those (say, African Americans) who are systematically excluded from economic opportunity is a feature of this system. It really is about signaling virtue and privilege.

Moving on to the next one, there is a great scene when Aunt Mattie shows up. She quizzes Helen and Henry about how they are getting on. Helen (happy in their new life) carefully explains that ALL of them do the cooking now. Lester reads the cookbook, and they learn more each day about how to do that task.

Aunt Mattie’s face instantly smoothed into comprehension of everything. She had wondered how they managed without a woman to keep house for them. Now she knew. They didn’t manage.

I would have been so tempted to slap that nasty woman right then and there. Fortunately, this particular bit of sexism is less common today. My late grandfather came of age in the 1940s, and he was always a fine cook. (An Army cook, to be exact, with a well-earned reputation of making anything edible.) All the men on my dad’s side of the family cook. Most of us quite well. We are expected to - it’s family pride at stake. I am no exception. I started cooking when I had to use a chair to reach the stove. As a teen, I cooked once a week. When my brother and I were batching it, we were fully capable of feeding visitors on a minute’s notice. My wife and I split the cooking since we were married (although the kids cook more these days - they have mad skills too.) Come to our house, and I’ll show you “not managing,” thank you very much!

So yeah, a little touchy about that one. Men in my family can also do laundry, ironing, dishes - the whole works. Because we take pride in our domestic skills. 

 Just one meal from earlier this month: 

Tabbouleh, hummus, grilled tomatoes, and lamb kebabs (plus pita from our local middle eastern grocery.) 

I can cook a little. 

On a related note…

Later in the visit, Lester, who has made a remarkable progression from a beaten-down man to confident father and home-maker, finally has had enough, and puts the smack down on Mattie, after she expresses horror that he is darning socks.

“Eva darned them a good many years, and did the housework. Why shouldn’t I? Do you know what you are saying to me, Mattie Farnham? You are telling me that you really think that home-making is a poor, mean, cheap job beneath the dignity of anybody who can do anything else.”

EXACTLY! I have had discussions with Fundie sorts who lament that home-making is somehow disrespected. (Of course, they think it is because women choose to do other things…) But my thought is, no shit! Anything that is relegated to the category of “women’s work” will be disrespected, just as women are. Home-making will get respected just fine when men embrace it. (And honestly, there is a huge generation gap here. Few of my grandparents’ generation had men who cared for infants. Pretty much every 30ish man I know is fully capable of caring for an infant overnight without issue. And cooking dinner too.)

The final bit which I found fascinating was Lester’s thoughts on capitalism and materialism. It is particularly interesting because Eva seems perfectly comfortable with a life of selling possessions to others. Lester, though, is not so sure. He pretty much rejects the whole consumerist system outright.

He knew now what it decreed: that men are in the world to get possessions, to create material things, to sell them, to buy them, above all to stimulate to fever-heat the desire for them in all human beings. It decreed that men are of worth in so far as they achieve that sort of material success, and worthless if they do not.

…

For an instant he understood why Tradition was so intolerant of the slightest infraction of the respect due to it, why it was ready to tear him and all his into a thousand pieces rather than permit even one variation from its standard. It was because the variation he had conceived ran counter to the prestige of sacred possessions. Not only was it beneath the dignity of any able-bodied brave to try to show young human beings how to create rich, deep, happy lives without great material possessions, but it was subversive of the whole-hearted worship due to possessions. It was heresy. It must be stopped at all costs.  

Yep. Possessions make the man, and consumerism fuels our economy. And a male who defies that will be punished. (And a woman who defies the system by stepping out of her place will be punished too.)

Okay, let’s talk about the present.

On the one hand, having experienced Fundie culture, I can say that within that subculture, nothing has changed since 1926. (Or, more correctly, since the Antebellum South.) Women are still expected to pour their lives and their selves into their assigned role. And to forgo a career. More personally, much unnecessary friction was created with my own family when my wife went back to work three months after each of our kids was born. (I, like Lester, love kids - particularly mine - and wouldn’t trade those long nights of feedings and snugglings for anything.) My wife paid dearly for her choices, and some relationships will probably never be whole as a result.

On the other hand, in general, these days women in the workforce are embraced. My wife is respected in her profession (unlike in the Evangelical church, I might add) and outside of the Fundie/Evangelical subculture, few bat an eye at the idea that she has a career.

But the reverse isn’t true, at least yet. I have the best of both worlds. As a lawyer, I have a prestigious career. I don’t have a lot of wealth, though. Lawyers make less than most people assume (particularly in smaller towns), and I have chosen reasonable hours over a high income. Because of this, my wife makes more than I do. But, I don’t really pay the price for this, because people know I am a lawyer. As a result, I actually get brownie points for being domestic, and yet don’t suffer the contempt of being a low-income male.

However, if I were to quit my job and stay home full time, there is absolutely no doubt that I would suffer every bit the contempt as Lester would. It was only his catastrophic injury that saved him from being viewed as lower than low - an un-man, so to speak. While feminism has enabled (middle class, white) women to enter the workforce, it hasn’t changed the basic cultural dynamic that insists that men bring home the bacon, and women clean the house and care for children.

I do blame some of this on a deliberate and egregious mistranslation of Scripture, by the way. In the original, I Timothy 5:8 is NOT gendered. The idea is that expecting a relative to be cared for by limited church funds was a big sin. All should care for their own if possible. It certainly did NOT mean that only males had the responsibility of breadwinning. Fortunately, some modern translations have rectified this error. (And often been castigated by Fundies for it.)

On an even more personal note, let me return to what my wife saw in this book. From the beginning of our relationship, she understood that we would not have a “traditional” marriage. She was committed to a career - and really didn’t expect to marry. That I came along and she fell in love was a good thing for both of us. But we also had no illusions that we would now fit the cultural template. She was going to work, kids or not, and I wasn’t going to do the 100 hour weeks that making partner requires. It just fit BOTH of our personalities better. So I essentially “mommy tracked” my career, and she focused on hers. We both split the household and child care duties in a mutually workable manner - and we change it as circumstances change. The key point here is that we are BOTH happier this way. It took a while for me to adjust to it, I suppose, because I worried that her love for me was dependent on my being the primary breadwinner. But that wasn’t the case, actually. It was just my cultural insecurities - and the residual belief that my work is tied up in my paycheck.

I do not want to appear to be dissing female home-makers here. My mom stayed home during our childhood (although she loves her post-kid career too), and given the circumstances, she made a fully defensible choice. Every family is different. I get that. I also get that for those outside the middle class economic status, these choices aren’t available. What I do want to say, however, is that gender roles of this sort are NOT (contrary to Fundie doctrine) a matter of morality, but a matter of circumstance and choice. And personality and gifting.

There is a lot of insight in this book. However, I would not say that the writing is spectacular. It isn’t bad, but from time to time, Fisher tells rather than shows, and she can tend to moralize. The book is pretty short, too, so many of the personalities do not have time to be fleshed out fully. The focus in the first half is split, while the second half is mostly about Lester. At that point, Eva becomes kind of a super saleswoman, but her internal life is left mostly unsaid.

Likewise, the book leaves some things unexplored. After all, Lester is happy in his role as a parent, but what of the future? It is harder to see him fulfilled after the kids depart and he is left as a (more or less) cripple at home with little to do. An astute reader will ask the obvious question here as well: what about a woman in the same situation? True enough. Which is why I think that the very worst busybodies are women who have no job whose kids have grown up. (If we were honest about the meaning of some of Saint Paul’s teachings on this, we might realize that “rule one’s own household” means in 21st Century language, “get off your lazy ass and get a job.”) I can think of more than a few women who really should take this to heart. If you have time to tell everyone else what to do, maybe you should polish your resume a bit…

I also wished the book had explored the relationship between Eva and Lester a bit more. (Again, short book, limited space.) Clearly, they had something going before kids. And yes, circumstances damaged their marriage a lot. But what of things after the change? One almost gets the impression that Eva is so busy with her career she doesn’t have time for the marriage. At least, she doesn’t have time to micromanage the household, which is good. But what of the relationship? I know ours: while there are some adjustments we had to make, like all married couples, I think we both respect each other more as a result of our choices. We are partners, and respect each other more, if anything, because of our strengths, whether they fit gender roles or not. It would have been interesting to see that dynamic at work in this book. In my view, this is as much of the story as the facts of the gender reversal. It is obvious what the response of society would be. Less obvious is how Eva and Lester negotiated the significant change in the dynamics of the family.

I haven’t gone into too much detail regarding how Lester and Eva reflect Amanda and myself. But there are a lot more parallels which anyone who knows us personally can undoubtedly recognize.

Even more interesting, perhaps, is how Dorothy Canfield Fisher’s own marriage mirrored this book. Her husband too was secondary to her economically. He did spend World War I as an ambulance driver, and eventually served in Congress. But she was the primary breadwinner, while he managed the household. By all accounts, it was a happy marriage.

This book is both fascinating and uneven. It’s a quick read, and one well worth exploring. It is thought provoking as to how much has changed - and how much really hasn’t.

***

Our edition is from Persephone Classics. This British press has been re-releasing books by female authors, mostly from the years between the World Wars. I also read and reviewed Miss Pettigrew Lives For a Day by Winifred Watson. There are some intriguing titles here, and I expect I will explore more of them in the future.

A Cold Spring by Elizabeth Bishop

Source of book: I own the complete Elizabeth Bishop.

March is Women’s History Month, and, in addition to my official selection (stay tuned), I like to read works by female poets. Well, actually, I always like that. My first two poetic loves were Emily Dickinson and Christina Rossetti. I fell in love with Elizabeth Barrett Browning in my teens. I have enjoyed a number of poets of the distaff set over the years. I think that because poetry was considered an acceptable outlet for intelligent and educated women in a time when more “serious” pursuits were off limits, many of the greatest minds ended up writing. 

I discovered Elizabeth Bishop as an adult, thanks to the work of former poet laureate Robert Pinsky, and both his Favorite Poem Project and his anthology, Essential Pleasures, which I highly recommend as an introduction to a wide range of poetry. You can read my post about Bishop’s North and South here. I won’t duplicate the biographical material from the previous post, but you can read more about her life there.

A Cold Spring is a short collection, as are all of Bishop’s works. She wasn’t a prolific writer, but what she did write is quite polished. I’ll just hit a few highlights.

First, her longer poem, “At the Fishhouses” is a tour de force of evocative description. In typical Bishop fashion, there is a sharp edge to things - she isn’t conventionally “nice,” and her descriptions bring to life the stinks and not-so-picturesque decay of her subjects. Cold, bitter, briny, and not quite safe. For example, this little bit:

If you should dip your hand in,

your wrist would ache immediately,

your bones would begin to ache and your hand would burn

as if the water were a transmutation of fire

that feeds on stones and burns with a dark gray flame.

If you tasted it, it would first taste bitter,

then briny, then surely burn your tongue.

It is like what we imagine knowledge to be:

dark, salt, clear, moving, utterly free,

drawn from the could hard mouth

of the world, derived from the rocky breasts

forever, flowing and drawn, and since

our knowledge is historical, flowing, and flown.

The whole poem is beautiful, in that not-exactly-nice sort of way.

In a similar way, the titular poem, “A Cold Spring,” gives a brilliant series of descriptions, but in an unexpected and edgy way. Here is the opening:

A cold spring:

the violet was flawed on the lawn.

For two weeks or more the trees hesitated;

the little leaves waited,

carefully indicating their characteristics.

Finally a grave green dust

settled over your big and aimless hills.

One day, in a chill white blast of sunshine,

on the side of one a calf was born.

The mother stopped lowing

and took a long time eating the after-birth,

a wretched flag,

but the calf got up promptly

and seemed to feel gay.

I am particularly fond of the phrases “a grave green dust” and “a chill white blast of sunshine.” Unforgettable and brilliant.

These poems seem to have been written primarily about her native New England, rather than her adopted home of Florida. The sea is a constant companion, as are the denizens of small villages. But Bishop was such an introvert that she scarcely seems to interact with the people. She communes with nature, and sings to the animals. Here is one particularly nice introverted poem.

“The Bight”

(On my birthday)

At low tide like this how sheer the water is.

White, crumbling ribs of marl protrude and glare

and the boats are dry, the pilings dry as matches.

Absorbing, rather than being absorbed,

the water in the bight doesn't wet anything,

the color of the gas flame turned as low as possible.

One can smell it turning to gas; if one were Baudelaire

one could probably hear it turning to marimba music.

The little ocher dredge at work off the end of the dock

already plays the dry perfectly off-beat claves.

The birds are outsize. Pelicans crash

into this peculiar gas unnecessarily hard,

it seems to me, like pickaxes,

rarely coming up with anything to show for it,

and going off with humorous elbowings.

Black-and-white man-of-war birds soar

on impalpable drafts

and open their tails like scissors on the curves

or tense them like wishbones, till they tremble.

The frowsy sponge boats keep coming in

with the obliging air of retrievers,

bristling with jackstraw gaffs and hooks

and decorated with bobbles of sponges.

There is a fence of chicken wire along the dock

where, glinting like little plowshares,

the blue-gray shark tails are hung up to dry

for the Chinese-restaurant trade.

Some of the little white boats are still piled up

against each other, or lie on their sides, stove in,

and not yet salvaged, if they ever will be, from the last bad storm,

like torn-open, unanswered letters.

The bight is littered with old correspondences.

Click. Click. Goes the dredge,

and brings up a dripping jawful of marl.

All the untidy activity continues,

awful but cheerful.

I do not get the impression that Bishop thought much of the big city. The next poem was written about her sojourn in New York City, and the title refers to the cross street of her apartment.

“Varick Street”

At night the factories

            struggle awake,

            wretched uneasy buildings

            veined with pipes

            attempt their work.

            Trying to breathe,

            the elongated nostrils

            haired with spikes

            give off such stenches, too.

And I shall sell you sell you

sell you of course, my dear, and you’ll sell me.

On certain floors

            certain wonders.

            Pale dirty light,

            some captured iceberg

            being prevented from melting.

            See the mechanical moons,

            sick, being made

            to wax and wane

            at somebody’s instigation.

And I shall sell you sell you

sell you of course, my dear, and you’ll sell me.

Lights music of love

            work on. The presses

            print calendars

            I suppose; the moons

            make medicine

            or confectionery. Our bed

            shrinks from the soot

            and hapless odors

            hold us close.

And I shall sell you sell you

sell you of course, my dear, and you’ll sell me.

That haunting refrain: “And I shall sell you sell you / sell you of course, my dear, and you’ll sell me.” It isn’t just about the city, but about consumerism, where we are all for sale. There is a solid argument to be made that cities have changed quite a bit since the 1940s. If anything, the factories have moved out to rural locations, and the political center of environment-destroying capitalism is now the small town in “red” states. My home city of Los Angeles, while still smoggy, is objectively much cleaner than it was when I was a kid. But Bishop captures a moment, and a feeling, and an idea of the individual as a cog in the money machine, that still haunts us today.

I’ll end with this short poem, perhaps my favorite in the collection. It is both introverted and deeply personal, and features Bishop’s skill at moving from the universal to the personal, from the nature metaphor to the details of a relationship. It is believed to have been written for Bishop’s lover, Lota Soares.

“The Shampoo”

The still explosions on the rocks,

the lichens, grow

by spreading, gray, concentric shocks.

They have arranged

to meet the rings around the moon, although

within our memories they have not changed.

And since the heavens will attend

as long on us,

you've been, dear friend,

precipitate and pragmatical;

and look what happens. For Time is

nothing if not amenable.

The shooting stars in your black hair

in bright formation

are flocking where,

so straight, so soon?

--Come, let me wash it in this big tin basin,

battered and shiny like the moon.

Everything in this poem, from the line length to the like breaks at key moments, is carefully set up to enhance - and provide - the meaning. Again, we see the unexpected descriptions of nature, such as lichens as “explosions.” There is the contrast between the slow movement of time in nature, and the brevity of our own lives. I adore the description of gray hairs as “shooting stars...in bright formation.” Readers who want a more in-depth analysis of this poem might enjoy this one, by Kala Dunn.

I find Bishop to be rewarding every time I read her poems. They are best read aloud and savored.

A Clearing in the Distance by Witold Rybczynski

Source of book: I own this.

This book is one of my wife’s random used book discoveries - she’s pretty good at that. She knew I liked the author, and the topic seemed interesting, so she picked it up.

A Clearing in the Distance is a biography of Frederick Law Olmsted. Perhaps you may have heard of him? Or maybe not. But you undoubtedly have heard of Central Park in New York City. Well, he and his partner Calvert Vaux designed it. Or how about the Chicago World’s Fair? Olmsted designed the grounds. Olmstead is considered the founder of the profession of “Landscape Architecture,” a term he disliked, but used because he never did come up with a better one. 

 Frederick Law Olmsted

Olmstead’s adult life overlapped with the second half of the 19th Century, so reading about his life brings in a lot of the culture, politics, and society of those times.

“I have all my life been considering distant effects and always sacrificing immediate success and applause to that of the future.” ~ Frederick Law Olmsted

I love this quote because it epitomizes the work of a landscape architect. As Olmsted noted, trees take a while to grow, and the final effect of a design is usually not seen for 40 or 50 years. Olmsted was thus working for future generations. But there is more here as well. I was struck at multiple places in this book at just how much our view of the public sector and the common good has changed since the late 1800s. I’ll get into that issue throughout the blog. I think that we used to have an idea of building for the future, for building for generations to come, to build for the public good, and not just for the good of the wealthy.

Perhaps the most pertinent example here is the way we approach parks. There was an era when creating large parks open to everyone was a priority for growing cities. And these were not cheap - they were quite expensive to design, build, and maintain. And they were huge. It is easy to forget that in 1850, New York City had a population of just under 600,000 - that’s about the same as the metro Bakersfield area. Likewise, when Montreal contracted with Olmsted to create a public park, it was a city of merely 120,000. Yet that is when large sums of money were set aside to build Central Park in New York and Mount Royal in Montreal. While Bakersfield has invested in some truly public parks over the years (and seems to be finally interested in improving Hart Park - which dates back many decades - these are all on a much smaller scale. And, as far as neighborhood parks, more and more of these are sequestered in gated communities, where the common riff-raff is carefully excluded. (In practice, segregation rearing its head again…)

One of the reasons for this shift is a change in the social contract between the classes. At several junctures, the book notes that part of being a “gentleman” was a responsibility to the common good. A man who didn’t use part of his wealth to benefit the commons was despised - by his peers. Not so much now. While there are exceptions, far too many of our own oligarchs believe they have zero obligation to the common good whatsoever. Ayn Rand has won their hearts.

Olmsted and others who worked for the preservation of wilderness (such as Yosemite) and creation of urban wilderness (through the parks) noted that in Europe at the time, all the best places were owned by the rich and carefully kept off limits to the commoners. Europe has since acted to change this - establishing its own national park systems and opening many formerly aristocrats-only parks to everyone. Now, it is the United States that is toying with privatizing public land and letting the wealthy buy up ever more of our public spaces.

Olmsted himself saw the beginnings of this transition, and it worried him. Always opposed to the institution of slavery, he noted that it “hindered the development of civilized communities” - not just among slaves, but among slave owners. (In my opinion, the support for the public sector and public good in the United States cratered after the end of Jim Crow. Whites were unwilling to share, and thus decided to oppose all public sector spending.) Olmsted further worried about the over-emphasis on self-reliance that went along with pioneering. It tended to degenerate into self indulgence and greed. Even the social and political institutions formed were based on self-interest rather than community. It is a problem that truly plagues us today.

Back to Olmsted himself. It took a while for Olmsted to find his career - and he did so in part because he was looking for a steady job. He dabbled for a number of years, taking a voyage as a common deck hand, gentleman farming, writing. He took a tour of the South and wrote about it in a mildly anti-slavery way. Actually, this trip served to make him even more abolitionist than he was. Back in his time, moderates called for a slow phasing out of slavery (by, for example, making the children free, and letting the existing slaves slowly die out.) However, he realized as a result of this trip that the Southern slave owners had no intention of any compromise. Rather, they required ever more land to work with slaves, and intended to make the United States mostly slave territory in the future. In what sounds all too familiar now, Olmsted wrote that the Southern gentry “do not seem to have a fundamental sense of right...Their moving power and the only motives which they can comprehend are materialistic.” Kind of like the modern Right...profit is all that matters. Olmsted made some money off his books and publishing ventures. But more than that, he got his name out.

I also found interesting Olmsted’s personal journey and concerns. Like most “moderates” of the time, Olmsted had misgivings about outright abolition. Some of their concerns turned out to be all too real. One of the main reasons he opposed outright, immediate emancipation was that he realized that vicious racism would prevent true integration. In addition, decades of suppressing the education of slaves meant that there was a huge task in mainstreaming a large population kept purposely unprepared for full civic participation. In the actual event, the necessity of a bloody war to end slavery meant a lack of political capital to finish the job of integration - and contributed to 100 years of Jim Crow and a nation that is still not fully integrated. One does have to wonder how things would have gone differently had the South agreed to phase out slavery and the North had truly invested in educating and integrating the children of slaves.

Olmsted’s fortunes changed dramatically when he was encouraged to apply for - and won - the position of designer and park superintendent for the soon-to-be-built Central Park. This would launch his career as a landscape architect, and provide much needed income for his family. (He married his brother’s widow around this time - it turned out to be a happy marriage, even if it may have started as a bit of a marriage of convenience.) 

 Part of Olmsted's original Central Park plan.

Soon afterward, he met a man who was to be his partner for over a decade, and an occasional collaborator thereafter: Calvert Vaux. Olmsted had a pretty good handle on the landscaping thing by that time, but he was trained as a surveyor, not an architect. And Central Park needed some buildings too. Vaux was an architect, and shared many of Olmsted’s aesthetic values. The two of them would eventually open a firm together and work on dozens of major projects. There is a list in the back of the book of projects Olmsted worked on, both alone and with various collaborators. It’s quite fascinating. While the collaborators are too many to mention individually, I do have to at least mention Jacob Wrey Mould, designer of a since-destroyed church nicknamed “The Church of the Holy Zebra.”  

 One of the most iconic Central Park landmarks: the Gothic Bridge, designed by Calvert Vaux

There are a few more unrelated things that made an impression on me.

First is that all of these major projects, public and private, had cost overruns. Every. Single. One. So, whenever a current public project goes over budget, well, this is certainly nothing new. It has always been the case. So, if you are complaining about cost overruns...maybe you really just object to the actual cost of public infrastructure. At least, you might want to think about it a bit.

The second is an interesting episode in Olmsted’s life during the Civil War. He was plased in charge of the Sanitary Commission. For those not familiar with the story, the military medical establishment turned out to be completely over their heads in dealing with the horrors of a large scale war - particularly the ravages of the minie ball. To cope with the high casualties, the Sanitary Commission was founded. The military lent ships and supplies, and the civilians provided the workforce. It was quite a success for the first part of the war, but was eventually supplanted by the military, which finally got up to speed. In part because of the lessons learned and taught by the Sanitary Commission. Anyway, Olmsted made a discovery that many have made before and since: even though they were largely volunteers, the female nurses were the backbone of the workforce. As Olmsted put it, “They beat the doctors all to pieces.” In turn, the nurses loved Olmsted for the respect and support he gave them. As the husband of a nurse, I thoroughly agree with Olmsted and his approach.

The final observation. The Chicago Exposition was an event for which we have no real modern analogue. At the time, the population of the United States was 63 million. In a period of six months, 27 million visited the Exposition. Nearly half! That’s incredible, particularly in an age when transportation wasn’t as easy or affordable for many. (Richard Peck wrote a book about it - one we really want to read at some point - his short story on the topic was great.)

There is so much more of interest in this book. Olmsted was a prodigious letter writer, so his own words appear often in the book. I have enjoyed Rybczynski’s writing on other topics for some time, but this book is a biography - a bit out of his usual type. The writing is good, however, and the author’s extensive knowledge and experience of architecture and design serves him well.

Anyone interested in landscape design, urban planning, or the Gilded Age will find this book fascinating. Whether you knew Olmsted before or not, his story and his influence on American planning is unmistakable.