When the representatives of the United Provinces left Antwerp for home after signing, amid pomp and pageantry, the Twelve Years' Truce on April 9, 1609, they returned to a country that had been transformed over the course of 30 years of war. A disparate group of provinces had banded together and made themselves into a sovereign state, and, forged by war, a nascent sense of Netherlands "nationality" began to emerge. The Dutch had succeeded in creating a politically viable and economically powerful polity that would soon be the envy of Europe. In an age characterized by great monarchs, from Elizabeth Tudor to Louis XIV, the Dutch crafted a republic, an entity entirely out of place in Europe (this isn't to say that they didn't have any experience in representative government -- see here). This was probably a result of the years of oppression under, for example, Charles and his son, when the Dutch people realized that absolutism wasn't so fun (people like de Alba didn't really help here)
I was trying to say earlier that, really, freedom is relative. It looks like, judging by Andra and Mia's posts on their countries and their struggles for true independence, it really is hard to judge when a country has completely come out from the shadow of its oppressor. As for my topic, maybe the Dutch Republic was indelibly shaped by the years under the control of the Spanish, but that isn't necessarily such a bad thing. If their response to authoritarian government was a republic, and to execution of "heretics" was an impressive display of religious tolerance, then who can say that the Spanish influence was so awful? Not that the Republic didn't have some hiccups along the way (see the whole taken over by the French thing), but it was pretty darn impressive, considering.
Tuesday
what does "free" mean anyway?
Both Andra and Mia made some really interesting points about the post-indepedence eras in the countries they're been blogging about, and how long it took for them to be considered really "free," or even if they are now.
Andra asked:
Laura and Mia: Do you think that your respective countries have gained full and complete independence? Does Ireland still depend on England? Would they be able to do anything if England decided they wanted to occupy Ireland again? Laura, how long did it take for the Netherlands to get on their own two feet and get rid of all Spanish influence? How did they do so? I see more hope for both of your regions, but Latvia is in a very scary position and might be for some time.
I can't answer all of that in one post, but let me try to say something that vaguely relates, at least. Skipping ahead a couple hundred years, I'll tell a little story. In December 1794, the revolutionary French armies crossed the frozen rivers of Brabant to attack the Dutch Republic. During the first days of January, 1795, they crossed the Maas and the Waal and entered Dutch territory. Wherever the French troops came, towns and villages fell into their hands. On January 16th, the strong town of Utrecht opened its gates to the invaders. On the evening of the next day, the States General, assembled in the Hague, decided that under the circumstances further opposition was impracticable and that surrender was the only possibility. At midnight of the next day, the 18th of January, William V, the last hereditary Stadholder of the Republic of the United Netherlands, left the country and fled to England. And after only a few weeks, the Republic had ceased to exist, having been replaced by the "Batavian Republic," a political dependency of victorious France. So all of the hard work that had taken centuries to build, the revolt against the Spanish rule and finally the independence of the Dutch Republic was for nothing?
As van Loon says, "if there was occasion for surprise, it was the fact that the Republic had managed to exist as long as it had." And this is where the free/not free debate comes in, where I wonder about the effects of the long and difficult battle for independence on the fledgling nation. Although "for many years it had been on the road towards political and economical bankruptcy," even though it seemed time after time over the years that the Netherlands couldn't exist when not under the thumb of the Spanish or another colonizing European power, somehow it always managed to stay afloat as a country in its own right. That doesn't mean there weren't scars from the years of oppression, as Mia says ("Ireland governs itself, but will it ever be free of English influence?") and I think all of us have found in our research, and I want to go into that in greater depth. But, no matter how weak the Republic was at any point, even when "dependency upon France seemed to most citizens preferable to independence under the old national system of government," (The Fall of the Dutch Republic, 3), the very fact that it had spent centuries fighting for its independence seemed to draw the people together towards a common purpose, or at least from a common history. In that way, maybe complete independence and complete removal from past sufferings isn't the goal? This is just me being a midnight ponderer (actually, it's a bit later than midnight) like someone else we know likes to call herself, but I'm starting to think that maybe it's best that the Netherlands reflect upon their shared history and draw upon that as a source of strength, not as a handicap.
Andra asked:
Laura and Mia: Do you think that your respective countries have gained full and complete independence? Does Ireland still depend on England? Would they be able to do anything if England decided they wanted to occupy Ireland again? Laura, how long did it take for the Netherlands to get on their own two feet and get rid of all Spanish influence? How did they do so? I see more hope for both of your regions, but Latvia is in a very scary position and might be for some time.
I can't answer all of that in one post, but let me try to say something that vaguely relates, at least. Skipping ahead a couple hundred years, I'll tell a little story. In December 1794, the revolutionary French armies crossed the frozen rivers of Brabant to attack the Dutch Republic. During the first days of January, 1795, they crossed the Maas and the Waal and entered Dutch territory. Wherever the French troops came, towns and villages fell into their hands. On January 16th, the strong town of Utrecht opened its gates to the invaders. On the evening of the next day, the States General, assembled in the Hague, decided that under the circumstances further opposition was impracticable and that surrender was the only possibility. At midnight of the next day, the 18th of January, William V, the last hereditary Stadholder of the Republic of the United Netherlands, left the country and fled to England. And after only a few weeks, the Republic had ceased to exist, having been replaced by the "Batavian Republic," a political dependency of victorious France. So all of the hard work that had taken centuries to build, the revolt against the Spanish rule and finally the independence of the Dutch Republic was for nothing?
As van Loon says, "if there was occasion for surprise, it was the fact that the Republic had managed to exist as long as it had." And this is where the free/not free debate comes in, where I wonder about the effects of the long and difficult battle for independence on the fledgling nation. Although "for many years it had been on the road towards political and economical bankruptcy," even though it seemed time after time over the years that the Netherlands couldn't exist when not under the thumb of the Spanish or another colonizing European power, somehow it always managed to stay afloat as a country in its own right. That doesn't mean there weren't scars from the years of oppression, as Mia says ("Ireland governs itself, but will it ever be free of English influence?") and I think all of us have found in our research, and I want to go into that in greater depth. But, no matter how weak the Republic was at any point, even when "dependency upon France seemed to most citizens preferable to independence under the old national system of government," (The Fall of the Dutch Republic, 3), the very fact that it had spent centuries fighting for its independence seemed to draw the people together towards a common purpose, or at least from a common history. In that way, maybe complete independence and complete removal from past sufferings isn't the goal? This is just me being a midnight ponderer (actually, it's a bit later than midnight) like someone else we know likes to call herself, but I'm starting to think that maybe it's best that the Netherlands reflect upon their shared history and draw upon that as a source of strength, not as a handicap.
to compromise or not to compromise?
Back to that point I made earlier, or at least hinted at, that a compromise was pretty much impossible between the Catholic and Protestant factions in the Spanish Netherlands? Well, van Loon has a bit to say about that. “For half a century, at least, a compromise seemed quite possible.” So why wasn’t it? My research seems to say, rather definitively, that it was all Philip II’s fault. Simplistic, yes, but true, I think. Bailey tells the story of Charles V handing over the Low Countries and Spain to his son Philip in 1555: “It was a moving scene: Charles, born in Ghent, still aroused feelings of loyalty, despite his heavy-handed government.” Unfortunately for the Low Countries, “Philip II acted like more of a Spaniard than his father had.” That’s a nice way of saying what van Loon puts this way: “under anybody else, less stupidly narrow-minded and less bigoted, there would have been a great chance of preventing the religious reformation from also becoming a political movement and from preventing the political movement from becoming an actual rebellion.”
I’ve talked a bit about Alba and enforcement, but not really about Philip’s own policies. Bailey puts it this way: “He reinforced his father’s repressive edicts and as a result political discontent and religious unrest were further aroused and added their collective combustive forces to the flame.” (81) Van Loon says pretty much the same thing: “An attempt was made to force upon [the people of the Netherlands] a political system which was tolerated in Spain, but which no more fitted their Dutch nature than the Manchu system would have fitted America. The nature of the people was of an old Germanic, individualistic sort, and instinctively rejected all attempts at trying to press it into the collectivistic system of an absolute monarchy.” (12) Interestingly, although the revolt is described as essentially political in nature, I would argue (as van Loon does) that religion played a more decisive role, because of the whole inability to compromise thing. By this point, in the north, essentially every city except Amsterdam was devoted to the new religion, to the doctrines of Martin Luther or Calvin. As van Loon puts it, “after many years of rebellion, the cities were willing to compromise upon political matters, to recognize their ruler’s right to institute such political innovations as he thought necessary. But, one and all of them, they positively refused to promise to give up their new religious convictions.” It’s really interesting to me that it was the arguments over religion that seemed to be the most divisive, that the Dutch people were willing to take a whole lot from their oppressive monarchs as a general rule, to give up a lot of their own freedoms, even their right to their land and money in some cases (although, as we’ll see/we’ve seen, those were two big subjects of contention), but not to give up their religion, even though it had so newly (in the grand scheme of things) become a part of their lives. I guess it has something to do with those “heavy and plodding mind”s of the Hollanders.
I’ve talked a bit about Alba and enforcement, but not really about Philip’s own policies. Bailey puts it this way: “He reinforced his father’s repressive edicts and as a result political discontent and religious unrest were further aroused and added their collective combustive forces to the flame.” (81) Van Loon says pretty much the same thing: “An attempt was made to force upon [the people of the Netherlands] a political system which was tolerated in Spain, but which no more fitted their Dutch nature than the Manchu system would have fitted America. The nature of the people was of an old Germanic, individualistic sort, and instinctively rejected all attempts at trying to press it into the collectivistic system of an absolute monarchy.” (12) Interestingly, although the revolt is described as essentially political in nature, I would argue (as van Loon does) that religion played a more decisive role, because of the whole inability to compromise thing. By this point, in the north, essentially every city except Amsterdam was devoted to the new religion, to the doctrines of Martin Luther or Calvin. As van Loon puts it, “after many years of rebellion, the cities were willing to compromise upon political matters, to recognize their ruler’s right to institute such political innovations as he thought necessary. But, one and all of them, they positively refused to promise to give up their new religious convictions.” It’s really interesting to me that it was the arguments over religion that seemed to be the most divisive, that the Dutch people were willing to take a whole lot from their oppressive monarchs as a general rule, to give up a lot of their own freedoms, even their right to their land and money in some cases (although, as we’ll see/we’ve seen, those were two big subjects of contention), but not to give up their religion, even though it had so newly (in the grand scheme of things) become a part of their lives. I guess it has something to do with those “heavy and plodding mind”s of the Hollanders.
Monday
and now a little less specific, with some background
Because even in my first posts I sort of jumped right into the monarchy, you might be looking for some sort of background about how the Netherlands became Spanish in the first place. If so, to back up a century or so, in 1475ish, Mary of Burgundy married Maximilian of Austria (the Hapsburg Prince who in 1493 was elected emperor, effectively joining their lands into one vast empire. As the historian Anthony Bailey puts it in The Low Countries, “The Low countries were merely a small, if wealthy, selection of [Maximilian’s] vast domains, but they were involved willy-nilly in the long Hapsburg quarrel with France. Perhaps if the states had foreseen the results of what -- for some of the provinces – would be the three-centuries-long Hapsburg connection, they would never have pressed Mary into her marriage with Maximilian. Rubbing in that aboriginal mistake, Louis XV of France declared as he stood at Mary’s tomb in Bruges, ‘There lies the cradle of our wars.’”
According to the same source, in direct and indirect ways, Hapsburg policy, perhaps surprisingly, did much to draw the Low Countries together. Charles V continued the tradition of the dukes of Burgundy and his grandfather Maximilian in showing little respect or the ambitions of the towns and provinces to maintain their own rights and semiautonomous governments. The centralizing tendency of the Hapsburg government, seen in all levels of the administration, was a sort of blessing in disguise in that it helped define the entirety of the individual provinces as one cohesive whole as opposed to independent sections. Even the tendency towards stringency in discipline of the Low Countries proved to have a silver lining, as Bailey says: “The sense of being subjected to a foreign, mostly absentee ruler, inspired the development of patriotic sentiments.” (The Low Countries, page 62).
According to the same source, in direct and indirect ways, Hapsburg policy, perhaps surprisingly, did much to draw the Low Countries together. Charles V continued the tradition of the dukes of Burgundy and his grandfather Maximilian in showing little respect or the ambitions of the towns and provinces to maintain their own rights and semiautonomous governments. The centralizing tendency of the Hapsburg government, seen in all levels of the administration, was a sort of blessing in disguise in that it helped define the entirety of the individual provinces as one cohesive whole as opposed to independent sections. Even the tendency towards stringency in discipline of the Low Countries proved to have a silver lining, as Bailey says: “The sense of being subjected to a foreign, mostly absentee ruler, inspired the development of patriotic sentiments.” (The Low Countries, page 62).
more about de alba
An act of Alba that caused perhaps an even stronger reaction, and certainly a more universal one, than the creation of the Council of Troubles was his imposition of the infamous alcabala. This tax of 10% on all sales (“tenth penny” tax) was his attempt to raise money that, predictably, even the Catholic residents weren’t so thrilled about. Mainly in reaction to this new policy, the exiles from the Low Countries who called themselves Geuzen (from the French for “beggers”), fitted out a fleet of privateers and actually managed to seize the town of Den Briel. This event has been pointed to as an essential step in the movement towards independence of the Dutch colonies.
de alba
Coming up there’ll be more about religion and how it led to revolt, but first here are some specifics about the people involved. So remember that fascinating little tidbit of a post about Fernando Álvarez de Toledo y Pimental, the duque de Alba, the fellow who Phillip II sent over in reaction to revolts in the Netherlands? Well I thought perhaps that short little post didn’t quite do him justice, so here’s a bit more on him:
Philip sent him into the Netherlands in 1567, at the head of an army of 12,000 men, with unlimited powers for the extirpation of the heretics. Soon after his arrival, Alba erected a tribunal, which he called the Council of Troubles and which the Calvinists came to refer as the “Council of Blood.” During the ten years that the Council was in operation, thousands of people were executed under Alba. Of course, Spanish and Dutch sources record very different numbers, the former mentioning only a few hundred while the latter cite around 18,000 victims. [Israel, Jonathan (1995). The Dutch Republic: its Rise, Greatness, and Fall 1477-1806, pp 159-160. Clarendon Press, Oxford UK.] Among the victims were the Count of Egmont and the Count of Hoorn , the two popular leaders of the dissatisfied Dutch nobles, who Alba had condemned to death despite the fact that they were Catholics.
a bit of religion
I haven’t talked a whole lot about the religious conflict in the Spanish Netherlands, or at least not about how it started, so I thought I’d go into that a bit, especially because it ties in pretty nicely with at least Mia’s topic.
For a background on religious matters in the Low Countries, I found it helpful to look at Hendrick Willem van Loon’s book The Fall of the Dutch Republic, which seems to be more accurately the Rise and Fall of the Dutch Republic, considering it begins its narrative in the very early middle ages. According to van Loon, “the inhabitants of the Low Countries had always been good Catholics. More than that, they had been intensely and almost puritanically interested in religious matters.” Apparently, to “the average Latin mind of the sixteenth century, the Church was a sort of general club to which you belonged as a matter of course, which baptized you and which buried you and kept a record of your marriage, but which otherwise was not expected to interfere with the agreeable pursuits of your daily life.” On the other hand, “here in the north, in the depressing and serious atmosphere of a country lower than sea-level, religion had always been taken with a terrible amount of seriousness. The easy-going and superficial mind of the Latin races was a horror to the heavy and plodding mind of the Hollander. He took his religion seriously because he took everything in life seriously.”
Such a description is interesting in its own right, but it also seems to mean that, when the 16th century came around, the serious Hollanders threw themselves behind the ideas of the Reformation, they didn’t do it halfway, but with the same entirety and seriousness of purpose. Maybe, then, that was part of the reason that a clash between the Catholic authorities and the newly Protestant people of the Low Countries was so inevitable, because the Dutch people couldn’t compromise and be just quietly and inconspicuously religious, or be somewhere in between Protestant and Catholic (like, say, the ambiguous British), but had to be really and truly “heretical,” at least in the eyes of the Catholic Church.
And then there was the Hapsburg point of view. I’ve talked a bit in earlier posts about how the Hapsburgs came down hard on the “heretics” in the Low Countries, but not really about why. Bailey has an interesting insight: “Unable to suppress the heretics in Germany itself – where a major religious conflict would have crippled German support for his war against Francis I of France – Charles V [Holy Roman Emperor, King of Spain, and ally of the Church], concentrated on putting down the reform movement in the Low Countries.” (72) So not only were the people themselves, arguably based on a certain national sensibility, incapable of compromise and simply sitting back and letting the government tell them what to believe, but the government couldn’t, for many reasons, ignore the discrepancy between the Protestant public and the Catholic authorities.
For a background on religious matters in the Low Countries, I found it helpful to look at Hendrick Willem van Loon’s book The Fall of the Dutch Republic, which seems to be more accurately the Rise and Fall of the Dutch Republic, considering it begins its narrative in the very early middle ages. According to van Loon, “the inhabitants of the Low Countries had always been good Catholics. More than that, they had been intensely and almost puritanically interested in religious matters.” Apparently, to “the average Latin mind of the sixteenth century, the Church was a sort of general club to which you belonged as a matter of course, which baptized you and which buried you and kept a record of your marriage, but which otherwise was not expected to interfere with the agreeable pursuits of your daily life.” On the other hand, “here in the north, in the depressing and serious atmosphere of a country lower than sea-level, religion had always been taken with a terrible amount of seriousness. The easy-going and superficial mind of the Latin races was a horror to the heavy and plodding mind of the Hollander. He took his religion seriously because he took everything in life seriously.”
Such a description is interesting in its own right, but it also seems to mean that, when the 16th century came around, the serious Hollanders threw themselves behind the ideas of the Reformation, they didn’t do it halfway, but with the same entirety and seriousness of purpose. Maybe, then, that was part of the reason that a clash between the Catholic authorities and the newly Protestant people of the Low Countries was so inevitable, because the Dutch people couldn’t compromise and be just quietly and inconspicuously religious, or be somewhere in between Protestant and Catholic (like, say, the ambiguous British), but had to be really and truly “heretical,” at least in the eyes of the Catholic Church.
And then there was the Hapsburg point of view. I’ve talked a bit in earlier posts about how the Hapsburgs came down hard on the “heretics” in the Low Countries, but not really about why. Bailey has an interesting insight: “Unable to suppress the heretics in Germany itself – where a major religious conflict would have crippled German support for his war against Francis I of France – Charles V [Holy Roman Emperor, King of Spain, and ally of the Church], concentrated on putting down the reform movement in the Low Countries.” (72) So not only were the people themselves, arguably based on a certain national sensibility, incapable of compromise and simply sitting back and letting the government tell them what to believe, but the government couldn’t, for many reasons, ignore the discrepancy between the Protestant public and the Catholic authorities.
Tuesday
(Part Two)
*Pre-WWI:
-most occupations defined as inappropriate for middle-class women
-some lower-middle-class women continued to work alongside their husbands like before, but most married middle-class women didn’t work
-maternal and housewifery roles justified by 19th c/ conception of women’s nature and capabilities (passive creatures who needed protection but also respected as morally superior, removed from contamination of competitive workday world – responsibility of caring for moral and spiritual needs of the fam)
-some occupations were accepted, explained in “how to” books – e.g. teachers, chemists/pharmacists
-Socialist women:
-1850-1914: many working-class women joined unions and working-class political organizations (as socialism became more popular in the last decades of the 19th c/, more and more working-class women attracted to socialist organizations)
-over time, more attention paid to women’s issues, and women gained leadership roles w/in socialist organizations
-1870s-1920s: improved standard of living, smaller family size, maternity benefits, protective legislation, unions, and new jobs
*WWI:
-with men off to war, a new labor force had to be trained (women and older men predominated)
-large numbers of women entering the labor force or changing jobs: for middle- and upper-class women (although not working-class women as much), war freed them from 19th c/ attitudes limiting work and personal life
-for working-class women in cities, growth of new white-collar job: one new trend which wouldn’t be reversed post-war (besides this mostly only temporary suspension of the normal conditions of work outside the home, and traditional patterns returned in the postwar era)
*WWII, Post-war:
-Germany:
-from the beginning, Nazi party: against any expansion of women’s political or economic roles (policy = to keep women in their own separate sphere as mothers and wives and remove them from the man’s sphere, aka jobs and politics)
-“children, church, and kitchen”
-however, many women supported the Nazi party and joined Nazi women’s organizations (e.g. Guida Diehl)
-1949, France: The Second Sex, by Simone de Beauvoir (well-known French novelist, social critic, and existential philosopher)
-argues women have been forced into a position subordinate to men in many obvious and subtle ways
-stresses the status and role of woman as the “Other” in comparison to man
-1960s and 1970s: women’s struggle for change spread and took on a new militancy
--> women’s liberation movement
-e.g. A Feminist Manifesto (1969 by Redstockings, an organization of New York feminists)
-identify men as agents of women’s oppression
-most occupations defined as inappropriate for middle-class women
-some lower-middle-class women continued to work alongside their husbands like before, but most married middle-class women didn’t work
-maternal and housewifery roles justified by 19th c/ conception of women’s nature and capabilities (passive creatures who needed protection but also respected as morally superior, removed from contamination of competitive workday world – responsibility of caring for moral and spiritual needs of the fam)
-some occupations were accepted, explained in “how to” books – e.g. teachers, chemists/pharmacists
-Socialist women:
-1850-1914: many working-class women joined unions and working-class political organizations (as socialism became more popular in the last decades of the 19th c/, more and more working-class women attracted to socialist organizations)
-over time, more attention paid to women’s issues, and women gained leadership roles w/in socialist organizations
-1870s-1920s: improved standard of living, smaller family size, maternity benefits, protective legislation, unions, and new jobs
*WWI:
-with men off to war, a new labor force had to be trained (women and older men predominated)
-large numbers of women entering the labor force or changing jobs: for middle- and upper-class women (although not working-class women as much), war freed them from 19th c/ attitudes limiting work and personal life
-for working-class women in cities, growth of new white-collar job: one new trend which wouldn’t be reversed post-war (besides this mostly only temporary suspension of the normal conditions of work outside the home, and traditional patterns returned in the postwar era)
*WWII, Post-war:
-Germany:
-from the beginning, Nazi party: against any expansion of women’s political or economic roles (policy = to keep women in their own separate sphere as mothers and wives and remove them from the man’s sphere, aka jobs and politics)
-“children, church, and kitchen”
-however, many women supported the Nazi party and joined Nazi women’s organizations (e.g. Guida Diehl)
-1949, France: The Second Sex, by Simone de Beauvoir (well-known French novelist, social critic, and existential philosopher)
-argues women have been forced into a position subordinate to men in many obvious and subtle ways
-stresses the status and role of woman as the “Other” in comparison to man
-1960s and 1970s: women’s struggle for change spread and took on a new militancy
--> women’s liberation movement
-e.g. A Feminist Manifesto (1969 by Redstockings, an organization of New York feminists)
-identify men as agents of women’s oppression
A very brief history of women... (Part One)
Hmm I tried to make this as short as possible but it's more like insufficient but still rather long, but oh well -- here goes:
*Industrial Revolution:
-prostitution flourished in 19th c/ cities (popular culture: Dumas’s La Dame aux Camelias and Verdi’s La Traviata)
-middle classes: gender and the cult of domesticity
-wives and mothers in a “separate sphere” --> beliefs about sexuality (women and men biologically different)
-paternal authority codified by law (e.g. Napoleonic Code – women, children and mentally ill classified together as legally incompetent)
-however, spiritual equality b/w men and women
-middle class values articulated in opposition to the aristocratic customs on one hand and the lives of the common people on the other
-outside the home, v. few respectable options for earning a living
-women: imp. role in the struggle to abolish the slave trade and slavery in the British Empire
-Queen Victoria as an example
-Victorian codes of etiquette and morality
-women’s alleged moral superiority believed to be literally embodied in an absence of sexual feeling or “passionlessness” (whereas male sexual desire = natural, even admirable)
-working women in the industry (caused public anxiety and outcry!)
-women and children = nearly half the labor force in some of the most modern industries, like textiles (paid less, less likely to make trouble as workers)
*Romanticism
-fiction --> best known work = Shelley’s Frankenstein
-stressed limits of reason and power of emotion
-defy conventionality (Shelleys, de Stael, George Sand)
*Imperialism:
-most of the Europeans who served as soldiers, officials, and administrators in overseas colonies = men, but women also traveled to the colonies (contradictory/complex position as unequals to men in their own societies but superior to colonized men and women – “inferior sex” within the “superior race”)
-for many, life in the colonies provided opportunities not found in Europe
-but, in their roles: wives of colonial officials (subordinated lives to male-centered administrative environment), educators of indigenous women (reproduced European notions of bourgeois or Victorian domesticity and female dependence), etc.
*Industrial Revolution:
-prostitution flourished in 19th c/ cities (popular culture: Dumas’s La Dame aux Camelias and Verdi’s La Traviata)
-middle classes: gender and the cult of domesticity
-wives and mothers in a “separate sphere” --> beliefs about sexuality (women and men biologically different)
-paternal authority codified by law (e.g. Napoleonic Code – women, children and mentally ill classified together as legally incompetent)
-however, spiritual equality b/w men and women
-middle class values articulated in opposition to the aristocratic customs on one hand and the lives of the common people on the other
-outside the home, v. few respectable options for earning a living
-women: imp. role in the struggle to abolish the slave trade and slavery in the British Empire
-Queen Victoria as an example
-Victorian codes of etiquette and morality
-women’s alleged moral superiority believed to be literally embodied in an absence of sexual feeling or “passionlessness” (whereas male sexual desire = natural, even admirable)
-working women in the industry (caused public anxiety and outcry!)
-women and children = nearly half the labor force in some of the most modern industries, like textiles (paid less, less likely to make trouble as workers)
*Romanticism
-fiction --> best known work = Shelley’s Frankenstein
-stressed limits of reason and power of emotion
-defy conventionality (Shelleys, de Stael, George Sand)
*Imperialism:
-most of the Europeans who served as soldiers, officials, and administrators in overseas colonies = men, but women also traveled to the colonies (contradictory/complex position as unequals to men in their own societies but superior to colonized men and women – “inferior sex” within the “superior race”)
-for many, life in the colonies provided opportunities not found in Europe
-but, in their roles: wives of colonial officials (subordinated lives to male-centered administrative environment), educators of indigenous women (reproduced European notions of bourgeois or Victorian domesticity and female dependence), etc.
Monday
Decline of Spanish Control
Spanish control was lost when Charles II of Spain died in 1700, naming Philip, duc d’Anjou of France as his successor (as Philip V). The Spanish Netherlands were henceforth ruled for six years by Bourbon France and occupied for yet another seven by Dutch and British troops. Finally, in 1713, the Treaties of Utrecht divided the Spanish inheritance, and rule of the Spanish Netherlands passed to the Holy Roman emperor Charles VI and the Austrian Hapsburgs.
The Treaties of Utrecht were also called the Peace of Utrecht, and were a series of treaties between France and Britain, the Dutch Republic, Prussia, Portugal, and Savoy, and another series between Spain and the same powers, concluding the War of the Spanish Succession (1701-14).
Specific, and probably not hugely thrilling details can be found here.
Basically, the crux of the treaties was that the question of the Spanish Succession was finally settled in favour of the Bourbon Philip V, the grandson of France’s Louis XIV.
The Treaties of Utrecht were also called the Peace of Utrecht, and were a series of treaties between France and Britain, the Dutch Republic, Prussia, Portugal, and Savoy, and another series between Spain and the same powers, concluding the War of the Spanish Succession (1701-14).
Specific, and probably not hugely thrilling details can be found here.
Basically, the crux of the treaties was that the question of the Spanish Succession was finally settled in favour of the Bourbon Philip V, the grandson of France’s Louis XIV.
Carved up like a turkey...
The Spanish Netherlands, during this period, was the scene of constant warfare. Unfortunately, it was essentially a buffer between Protestant and Roman Catholic states, and was therefore “mercilessly carved up.” Specifically, Northern Brabant, Zeeland, and the region east of the Meuse River was ceded to the United Provinces (the Dutch Republic) in 1648. In addition, France took the county of Artois in 1659, and later large southern portions of Hainaut, Luxembourg, and Flanders. Finally, in 1648, the Peace of Münster closed the port of Antwerp, and important strategic location, to foreign trade
The Southern Provinces
Although the southern provinces at this time were far from independent, they did experience a significant amount of freedom in internal affairs. They controlled their own judiciary system and set up councils to aid the governor general. They also enjoyed the privileges established with the Joyeuse Entrée. This term, meaning “joyous entry” in French, was, during the European Middle Ages and the ancient régime, the ceremonial first visit of a prince to his country, traditionally the occasion for the granting or confirming of privileges. This particular Joyeuse Entrée refers to the charter of liberties, confirmed on Jan. 3 1356, which was presented to the duchy of Brabant (in the Low Countries) by Wenceslas, the duke of Luxembourg and brother of the Holy Roman emperor Charles IV, and his wife, Johanna, daughter and heiress of Brabant’s Duke John III (d. 1355). The Brabançons were afraid that Wenceslas, who was a foreigner and thus not to be trusted, might ignore their traditional liberties. Thus, the charter was meant to confirm Brabant’s liberties. It stated that Brabant could not be divided, that Brabant must be consulted on such essential issues as coinage of money, foreign alliances, and declarations of war, and that public offices would only be open to Brabançons. This charter eventually became the model for the charters of other provinces of the Low Countries.
Despite all this tradition of essential liberties being withheld within the territories, foreign affairs were strictly under the leadership of the Spanish throne, demonstrating who really held the power during this period.
Nevertheless...
In spite of the warfare and confusion, the Spanish Netherlands experienced a resurgence of economic and intellectual growth in the early 17th century. The linen industry soon recovered from the Spanish reconquest and even surpassed its former levels of production. Flemish painting flourished under Peter Paul Rubens, Anthony van Dyck, and others. The major cities of Ghent and Bruges grew rapidly. Agriculture advanced through the digging of canals and the introduction of new crops and harvesting methods. Overeall, prosperity continued into the mid-17th century.
For example, this piece by Rubens.
But...
Unfortunately, within three years it was apparent that the religious truce would not hold. The differences between the agrarian, Roman Catholic south and the commercial-industrial, Calvinist-dominated north were too great to coexist harmoniously. Not helping matters was the fact that the Spanish king had chosen as his representative Alessandro Farnese (later the duke of Parma), who was well known for his diplomatic and military skills. The problem? By emphasizing Roman Catholic unity and showing moderation in his treatment of the Protestants in the south, he regained the confidence of the southern provinces and reestablished Spanish control over them. By 1585, the union of the northern and southern Low Countries was over.
Pacification of Ghent
The largely Roman Catholic southern provinces had remained loyal to Spain to this time. However, an active Protestant movement and the growing desire to be autonomous influenced them to join in a united resistance to Spain. In 1576, delegates from the union of northern and southern provinces, known collectively as the States General, met and issues the Pacification of Ghent.
RXN
In 1567, Philip II sent Fernando Álvarez de Toledo y Pimental, the duque de Alba, to quell the insurrection of the members of the Calvinist movement. His harsh, repressive measures (see the Council of Troubles) and heavy taxation met with immediate resistance. King Philip II, recognizing his mistake, recalled the hated Alba in 1573.
Discontent Under Foreign Rule
In 1566, Philip II was short on money, and so he cancelled enforcement of the strict heresy laws he had previously called for. Dutch Protestants began to openly threaten Spanish rule, holding open-air prayer meetings guarded by armed men, even starting to smash Catholic religious images in churches. Philip II, shocked by this behavior, came to believe that up to half of the population of the Low Countries had joined the Protestants, and therefore sent a large army that drove the Protestant leaders into Exile, led by his nephew the Duke of Parma. With help from Spain’s rivals, England and France, these leaders returned, and captured fortified towns in the northern (Dutch) provinces.
The Next Generation
Philip II was the son of Charles V. In 1556, he inherited only half of his father’s unwieldy empire, including Spain, Flanders, and the American colonies. However, he also inherited along with these territories, a threatening Protestant rebellion. Philip was a zealous Catholic who ruled a quarter of the population of western Europe, as well as, more recently, Peru, Mexico, and the Philipines. He married Mary Tudor, the Catholic queen of England, but he mostly ignored that smaller and seemingly less important country, and their union did not produce the hoped-for Catholic heir. By this time, there were many Protestants in the Netherlands. Philip II happened to believe that it was his duty as a king “appointed by God,” to fight for the Catholic Church (a bit like Louis XIV). Backed by the zeal of the Jesuits and the Spanish Inquisition, his savage repression of Protestants soon helped stir up discontent, eventually leading to a rebellion that disrupted the Spanish empire in the Netherlands.Charles Quint
Spain ruled the Low Countries, under Charles Quint, the ruler of Spain, the Netherlands, Austria, Germany, and America. Because of the immense amounts of territory under his control, he was widely considered the most powerful man in Europe. Fun fact: by the time he was 20, in 1520, Charles V ruled the largest collection of European land since Charlemagne over 700 years earlier. He had been born in Flanders, spoke French, and became the Duke of Burgundy as a child. As he grew up, he inherited three more crowns from his different, extremely powerful grandparents: Hapsburg Austria, Spain, and the German Lands. By 1520, France was surrounded by Spanish territories, which made Frances I just the tiniest bit nervous.
Meanwhile, Charles ruled his empire more like a family estate than a united kingdom, allowing each part to keep its own languages, customs, laws and forms of government. Charles travelled around, holding court in different capitals.
Charles first arrived in Spain as a foreigner, not speaking a word of Spanish, but he soon came to regard Spain as the most essential part of his empire. At that time, newly-united Spain was driving out the Moors. In 1492, Columbus landed in the New World, and within a generation, Spain had conquered the Inca and Mayan empires. Because of these conquests, Spain was enriched by silver and gold brought back across the Atlantic, and the once conquered nation grew exponentially in power, wealth, and prestige.
Unfortunately for the common people he was ruling over, despite the treasures pouring in from the Americas, Charles found it necessary to levy heavy taxes on the Netherlands, especially on the flourishing cloth industry. He needed money for endless wars, and to build forts to protect his newly massive empire. Generally, his actions shortly after becoming king did nothing to appease the fears of the Spanish people.
Spanish Netherlands
The Spanish Netherlands consisted of Spanish-held provinces located in the southern part of the Low Countries (roughly corresponding to present-day Belgium and Luxembourg), as seen on this map. (click to enlarge)
A Preview...
In my exploration of the history of the Spanish Netherlands, I have looked into the background of the area, and, specifically, the leadership of Charles V and Philip II, and how their particular actions of governance led to the general discontent of the Dutch peoples. Ultimately, it seems that the final straw in the divergence between the conflicting factions in the Spanish Netherlands, that ultimately led to war and the eventual independence of the Dutch Republic, was the religious clash between the Roman Catholic provinces (mostly in the south) who remained loyal to Spain, and the activist Protestant movement in the north. Although my final argument is not fully realized yet, I plan to explore the continuation of this religious divide into the years after Dutch independence, to see how the history of conflict and foreign control shaped the Dutch Republic in its growth as a fledgling nation, and how the same history shaped the subsequent centuries from the point of view of other powers in the region. In order to do that, I plan to look into the lives of the next generation of leaders, including Louis XIV of France, Carlos II of Spain, and William of Orange, of the Dutch Protestants, and the results of the War of the Spanish Succession, even, ultimately, post-Napoleon and the creation of modern Belgium and Luxembourg as ‘neutral’ states.
Sunday
Research...Paper?
Although Andra and Mia have already done a great job of summarizing the topic we've chosen for our epic blogging research extravaganza, I suppose I should have a go of it as well. Basically, we as a group are interested in following three separate countries within Europe itself (as opposed to the allegedly uncivilized countries of Africa and the New World) that were under the control of other European powers at some point. We want to trace not only the methods of conquest and governance by the colonizing force, and, ultimately, the rise to independence by the weaker nation, but also the psychological effects of the period of outside control, and the legacy of such a period over the centuries.
Specifically, although we're still ironing out the details, it looks like Andra will be looking at the Baltic states controlled by USSR, I'm thinking of exploring the Spanish Netherlands, and Mia is looking into a few options, including Moorish Spain, Ireland, and Poland, before making a final decision.
Specifically, although we're still ironing out the details, it looks like Andra will be looking at the Baltic states controlled by USSR, I'm thinking of exploring the Spanish Netherlands, and Mia is looking into a few options, including Moorish Spain, Ireland, and Poland, before making a final decision.
part two
Adding on to my previous post, I don’t want to sound like I think Hitler’s Germany was perfect except for the small problem of genocide, because of course that would be appalling. But considering where Germany had been before Hitler rose to power, surely the people deserved to be able to put their faith in a leader who offered them more than poverty and disillusionment. I almost don’t blame them for choosing to look past his, well, ridiculous rantings and ravings in Mein Kampf, and to see someone who could lead their country to the greatness they felt they had never really had. Returning to the Obama comparison, we can surely relate to the feeling of wanting to put the rather unfortunate past leadership behind us and throw ourselves behind a bright, promising young leader. And putting ourselves on Hitler’s timeline, for a little perspective, we’re still in the honeymoon period. It’s the equivalent of, what? The spring of 1933? No, I don’t think that in a few years we’ll find ourselves in a similar situation to that of the Germans in the late ‘30s, but I do think it’s possible that Obama will make some mistakes, and I know I, for one, will have trouble accepting that. For that reason, I think we have to check ourselves any time we find ourselves settling into hero-worship, as tempting as that might be. That doesn’t mean we can’t do some fist pumping, Yes, we can chanting, jumping up and down for Obama, because I completely support that. But if we’re going to be harsh, in retrospect, towards the German people for not seeing what is so starkly and nauseatingly obvious looking back, we should probably be careful ourselves.
yes we can? (part one)
This is in response to Mia’s post on the rather terrifying resemblance in the way that Hitler and Obama address the masses. The connection that Mia makes is one that I’ve made before when watching such huge demonstrations of apparently unquestioning support for a leader. And in some ways, it is rather disturbing to wonder what sort of things we would let a leader get away with if they gave us hope. On the other hand, maybe it’s not so surprising that all of those people listening to Hitler are “absolutely captivated,” as Mia puts it, that their “faces light up in jubilation.” After all, in Hitler’s Germany, I’d venture to say that life was better for the masses…except of course for the Jews, Slavs, gypsies, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Communists, and homosexuals. I don’t mean to understate the horror of Hitler’s actions against those groups of people. Having grown up hearing stories of my great-grandparents, on both sides of my family, losing siblings and parents in Nazi Germany and occupied Poland, and barely escaping with their own lives, I don’t want to discount the sickening nature of the millions of deaths under the Nazis.
However, the average individual under Hitler, at least early on in his leadership, didn’t know that the Final Solution was coming. Probably a large percentage of the population didn’t know even once that policy had been implemented exactly what was going on and the scope of it, or even had heard more than murmurs of the truth. And, to their credit, at least on the surface there seemed to be a lot to praise Hitler for. Despite his questionable policies in many regards, he had led the government to provide jobs during the Depression by sponsoring public works – reforestation, swamp drainage, housing, highway construction, and rearmament. Consumer goods, especially radios, became more plentiful under his leadership, and a program called Strength through Joy, however questionable in terms of its motivations, provided vacations, even for the lower middle class. The German chemical industry continued to thrive, producing artificial rubber, plastics, synthetic textiles, and many substitute products. The government, obsessed as it was with youthful strength and the perfect Aryan race, sponsored youth movements in schools and universities, and provided financial benefits to families with children. And prior to the 1930s, class division in Germany had been rather rigid; now, suddenly, such harsh delineation of classes was nearly erased (unsurprisingly that meant that young, poorly educated dropouts just like Hitler could rise rapidly).
However, the average individual under Hitler, at least early on in his leadership, didn’t know that the Final Solution was coming. Probably a large percentage of the population didn’t know even once that policy had been implemented exactly what was going on and the scope of it, or even had heard more than murmurs of the truth. And, to their credit, at least on the surface there seemed to be a lot to praise Hitler for. Despite his questionable policies in many regards, he had led the government to provide jobs during the Depression by sponsoring public works – reforestation, swamp drainage, housing, highway construction, and rearmament. Consumer goods, especially radios, became more plentiful under his leadership, and a program called Strength through Joy, however questionable in terms of its motivations, provided vacations, even for the lower middle class. The German chemical industry continued to thrive, producing artificial rubber, plastics, synthetic textiles, and many substitute products. The government, obsessed as it was with youthful strength and the perfect Aryan race, sponsored youth movements in schools and universities, and provided financial benefits to families with children. And prior to the 1930s, class division in Germany had been rather rigid; now, suddenly, such harsh delineation of classes was nearly erased (unsurprisingly that meant that young, poorly educated dropouts just like Hitler could rise rapidly).
Wednesday
Sucks to be German
I agree completely with both Charlie and Andra (see this post ) when it comes to the unfair treatment of Germany during and after the Treaty of Versailles. It was not only not very nice, but also a downright bad idea, long-term, for the other powers to treat Germany so horridly after the war. Andra’s claim, “If the other nations had assumed their own responsibility and agreed to pay their own debts over time instead of taking the easy way out and making Germany pay for everything, Hitler may have never been able to gain the power he did and World War II could have maybe been avoided,” is bold, but I think it definitely is arguable. However, I think that such an argument is much easier to make looking back on the devastation caused by a bitter Germany, still chafing from its humiliations and looking to a figure just like Hitler to lead it to “glory” and revenge. At the time that the other powers were looking to sign a treaty, though, Europe was in no position to be gentle with poor, war-ravaged Germany. The war had left some 10 million people dead and another 20 million wounded. Each of the great powers (except Italy and the United States) had lost 1 million to 2 million people. The world was terrified of Bolshevism and threatened by a deadly influenza epidemic. In many places, revolution loomed; the Jews were pushing for a homeland; the Japanese were advancing into China. When the nations met at the Palace of Versailles in January 1918, they couldn’t afford to not find a scapegoat. Sitting in class last Friday, playing the role of France in the simulation of the peace talks at Versailles, I felt much the same way Andra did, and was similarly “quick to place all of the responsibility of the war and all the debts caused by said war on Germany.” But I think that, to some extent, this need to push Germany, probably beyond its breaking point, to keep the other powers happy, was valid. Even though we didn’t have millions of people depending upon us like the real heads of state did, and so could laugh a bit at the situation, even in the not-as-serious situation, I found that each time tension started building and Britain and Italy and the United States were arguing, it was such a relief to smile and put the blame on Germany. It not only helped each of our countries, but it brought the rest of us together, just like a good scapegoat should, just like Hitler’s eventual hatred of the Jews brought a damaged Germany together not too much later. In a sick and terrifying way, I guess what goes around comes around.
Sunday
Again and Again
Ever since we talked about Nietzsche’s “Greatest Burden” in class (the one with the demon and life put on endless repeat) I’ve found myself thinking about it more than I had expected. I have to say that I still don’t fully understand the logistics of it, in terms of how and when a life would be completed, and to what extent, of how aware you would be of such things, etc., but that doesn’t really matter. There are a few things that strike me about it. For one thing, the phrase “thy loneliest loneliness.” I’ve heard people say that the worst pain you block out of your memory, so when you try to think back to that time that you broke your arm or were absolutely awfully humiliated or whatever it might be, you can’t remember exactly what that moment felt like in all its horrendous details. I feel that way a bit about loneliness too. Sitting in the MEH classroom, which was filled with sunlight almost at the end of the school day, it was really hard to imagine what “loneliest loneliness” would feel like. I’d just had a cup of coffee (or two?) and was feeling rather forcefully (if falsely) cheerful, so thinking about the demon’s pronouncement, I tried to tell myself that it wouldn’t matter really. In that sort of rebellious way you get when you’re trying to convince yourself that something was your idea in the first place, I told myself that, in that situation, I’d take advantage of the situation. After all, sometimes it’s comforting watching movies and tv shows when you know how they’re going to end. Why couldn’t life be like that? It might be nice to know what was coming, to look forward to the happy parts and brace yourself for the humiliations and heartbreaks.
That’s the happy mind thinking, though. To think about it from the loneliest lonely mind, it would be different, surely. However, and maybe I just think this because I’ve never felt the sort of loneliness that Nietzsche is alluding too, it might be comforting to realize that, no matter how bad things would get, you’d always get a chance to return back to the innocence and dependence of your childhood, which (one would hope) is one of the most comforting things you could hear in that situation. Either way, really what it comes down to, and we discussed this in class briefly, is that you’d be losing control of your own actions, of the choice that you had or at least appeared to have before (depending on your view), and all that would be left to you would be your mind, and your emotions. So, although you might not realize in the awful moment that the demon was informing you of the situation, you would ultimately reach a state in which the facts of your life, the events and the petty details, were so familiar that you had begun to ignore them, that they no longer caused you pain. It would be like playing a song on repeat, I would think: you’d no longer concentrate on the lyrics, simply nodding along to the beat as you let yourself become lost in your thoughts.
That’s the happy mind thinking, though. To think about it from the loneliest lonely mind, it would be different, surely. However, and maybe I just think this because I’ve never felt the sort of loneliness that Nietzsche is alluding too, it might be comforting to realize that, no matter how bad things would get, you’d always get a chance to return back to the innocence and dependence of your childhood, which (one would hope) is one of the most comforting things you could hear in that situation. Either way, really what it comes down to, and we discussed this in class briefly, is that you’d be losing control of your own actions, of the choice that you had or at least appeared to have before (depending on your view), and all that would be left to you would be your mind, and your emotions. So, although you might not realize in the awful moment that the demon was informing you of the situation, you would ultimately reach a state in which the facts of your life, the events and the petty details, were so familiar that you had begun to ignore them, that they no longer caused you pain. It would be like playing a song on repeat, I would think: you’d no longer concentrate on the lyrics, simply nodding along to the beat as you let yourself become lost in your thoughts.
What Life Asks of Us
The day we talked about Nietzsche in class, it just so happened that I had read a column by David Brooks, called "What Life Asks of Us", in English class. It’s funny, because I usually wouldn’t agree with the conservative undercurrents of the piece, but maybe it’s in comparison to the Nietzsche we were just reading that Brooks’ message rang true. He says:
The report implied an entire way of living. Individuals should learn to think for themselves. They should be skeptical of pre-existing arrangements. They should break free from the way they were raised, examine life from the outside and discover their values.
This approach is deeply consistent with the individualism of modern culture, with its emphasis on personal inquiry, personal self-discovery and personal happiness. But there is another, older way of living…In this way of thinking, to borrow an old phrase, we are not defined by what we ask of life. We are defined by what life asks of us. As we go through life, we travel through institutions – first family and school, then the institutions of a profession or craft.
Brooks goes on to argue, predictably, for the past, for the older way of thinking, for the established and the accepted. I was surprised, when reading the column, to find myself agreeing with him more than I didn’t. I guess I value respect for tradition more than I thought I did, more than I feel like I should as one of the younger generation that calls for change, and breaking free from the shackles of the unenlightened past, or something like that. It’s not just that, either. I realized, reading it, that the qualities I value most in myself, and the experiences in my life that mean the most to me, come from communities, from groups of people – not mobs but families, friends, neighborhoods, schools.
Ultimately (and rather obviously), I think either constantly attempting to overthrow the existing system and create new values, or accepting and bowing down to the old system completely, is unrealistic, for one thing, and also based on an oversimplification and refusal to accept any sort of compromise view. Brooks makes a very interesting claim:
I thought it worth devoting a column to institutional thinking because I try to keep a list of the people in public life I admire most. Invariably, the people who make that list have subjugated themselves to their profession, social function or institution.
Now, I don’t know who it is that Brooks admires, and so maybe his claim is completely accurate, but the sort of people who I admire aren’t that easily classified. After all, no one makes the top of a “People I admire most” list simply for doing working hard at their job and not going outside of the box at all, thinking creatively, coming up with new solutions, maybe challenging authority a bit and thinking for themselves. Granted, it’s true that it’s not random anarchist rebels who are completely against society and all that it stands for who are on the list (or at least on my list) either, but usually it’s people in between – people who had the “proper” respect for the tradition of their profession, who worked their way up, and then did something exceptional once they had proven themselves. Looking forward then, I’d say I hope for myself to find some sort of balance between these two extremes.
The report implied an entire way of living. Individuals should learn to think for themselves. They should be skeptical of pre-existing arrangements. They should break free from the way they were raised, examine life from the outside and discover their values.
This approach is deeply consistent with the individualism of modern culture, with its emphasis on personal inquiry, personal self-discovery and personal happiness. But there is another, older way of living…In this way of thinking, to borrow an old phrase, we are not defined by what we ask of life. We are defined by what life asks of us. As we go through life, we travel through institutions – first family and school, then the institutions of a profession or craft.
Brooks goes on to argue, predictably, for the past, for the older way of thinking, for the established and the accepted. I was surprised, when reading the column, to find myself agreeing with him more than I didn’t. I guess I value respect for tradition more than I thought I did, more than I feel like I should as one of the younger generation that calls for change, and breaking free from the shackles of the unenlightened past, or something like that. It’s not just that, either. I realized, reading it, that the qualities I value most in myself, and the experiences in my life that mean the most to me, come from communities, from groups of people – not mobs but families, friends, neighborhoods, schools.
Ultimately (and rather obviously), I think either constantly attempting to overthrow the existing system and create new values, or accepting and bowing down to the old system completely, is unrealistic, for one thing, and also based on an oversimplification and refusal to accept any sort of compromise view. Brooks makes a very interesting claim:
I thought it worth devoting a column to institutional thinking because I try to keep a list of the people in public life I admire most. Invariably, the people who make that list have subjugated themselves to their profession, social function or institution.
Now, I don’t know who it is that Brooks admires, and so maybe his claim is completely accurate, but the sort of people who I admire aren’t that easily classified. After all, no one makes the top of a “People I admire most” list simply for doing working hard at their job and not going outside of the box at all, thinking creatively, coming up with new solutions, maybe challenging authority a bit and thinking for themselves. Granted, it’s true that it’s not random anarchist rebels who are completely against society and all that it stands for who are on the list (or at least on my list) either, but usually it’s people in between – people who had the “proper” respect for the tradition of their profession, who worked their way up, and then did something exceptional once they had proven themselves. Looking forward then, I’d say I hope for myself to find some sort of balance between these two extremes.
A Paradise for Ladies
From the little snippets of relevant writing that our textbook sporadically provides us in those familiar gray boxes, it’s interesting to note the explicit and more subtle effects of the Second Industrial Revolution. For example, in the excerpt from Emile Zola’s novel The Ladies’ Paradise (1883), a central theme of the era is expressed, perhaps a bit melodramatically. In his exploration o consumption, Zola seems to agree with the idea of his time that it sparked the “moral disaster of women’s limitless desire for goods.” His character Denise is fascinated by the horrific effect the department store has upon women who go there to buy the goods that they apparently desire so strongly. She watches as groups of women form “a real mob, made brutal by covetousness.” His description of the materials – laces, lengths of cloth, overcoats, etc. – is almost terrifying, as Zola breathes life into these objects of consumption, making the materials (and, by implication, the acquisition of them and materialism in general), monstrous and awful. Most horrific, however, and at the time perhaps most telling, is his metaphor for the department store.
There was the continuous roar of the machine at work, of customers, crowding into the departments, dazzled by the merchandise, then propelled towards the cash-desk. And it was all regulated and organized with the remorsefulness of a machine: the vast horde of women were as if caught in the wheels of an inevitable force.
This description sheds light on the conflicting beliefs, hopes and fears of people at the time, who must have been equally fascinated by, the new inventions of the period, and worried as they watched all of society, seemingly, operate on an unbelievably large scale, with large corporations, mass consumption, and mass politics eclipsing the individual completely. Here is also the fear of man’s own creation – symbolized by the general machine – and its power and control over its creator. Thus, Zola’s choice of metaphor can be nothing but deliberate as he explores the conflicting values and experiences of the time.
There was the continuous roar of the machine at work, of customers, crowding into the departments, dazzled by the merchandise, then propelled towards the cash-desk. And it was all regulated and organized with the remorsefulness of a machine: the vast horde of women were as if caught in the wheels of an inevitable force.
This description sheds light on the conflicting beliefs, hopes and fears of people at the time, who must have been equally fascinated by, the new inventions of the period, and worried as they watched all of society, seemingly, operate on an unbelievably large scale, with large corporations, mass consumption, and mass politics eclipsing the individual completely. Here is also the fear of man’s own creation – symbolized by the general machine – and its power and control over its creator. Thus, Zola’s choice of metaphor can be nothing but deliberate as he explores the conflicting values and experiences of the time.
Unique Forms
Two years after Boccioni helped create the Technical Manifesto on Futurist Painting in Milan with a group of other young Italian artists, he published a Technical Manifesto of Futurist Sculpture. In it, he extended the general ideas he had helped to articulate earlier, arguing that traditional sculpture was "a monstrous anachronism." The tone of this later work is very similar to his previous manifesto, as he calls for other sculptors to join him on his exhilarating journey: "Let's proclaim the absolute and complete abolition of finite lines and the contained statue. Let's split open our figures and place the environment inside them."
Boccioni's own work, which is displayed in its gilded glory as the front piece to Chapter Twenty-Three in our textbook, is the perfect expression of these principles and goals. His Unique Forms of Continuity in Space highlights the formal and spacial effects of motion rather than the source, which is here the striding human figure. As opposed to in the stagnant traditional sculpture that he so vehemently argued against, in his statue the figure is so expanded, interrupted and broken in plane and contour that the form is almost lost, as the movement eclipses it in importance. This sculpture in its power and sense of vital activity, embodies all that the Futurists stood for, symbolizing the dynamic quality of modern life.
Boccioni's own work, which is displayed in its gilded glory as the front piece to Chapter Twenty-Three in our textbook, is the perfect expression of these principles and goals. His Unique Forms of Continuity in Space highlights the formal and spacial effects of motion rather than the source, which is here the striding human figure. As opposed to in the stagnant traditional sculpture that he so vehemently argued against, in his statue the figure is so expanded, interrupted and broken in plane and contour that the form is almost lost, as the movement eclipses it in importance. This sculpture in its power and sense of vital activity, embodies all that the Futurists stood for, symbolizing the dynamic quality of modern life.
Manifesto!
On April 11, 1910, a group of young Italian artists published Futurist Painting: A Technical Manifesto, in an attempt to apply the writer Fillippo Tommaso Marinetti’s views on literature to the visual arts. As our textbook mentions, Marinetti had “called for a radical renewal of civilization through courage, audacity, and revolt,” referring to “a new form of beauty, the beauty of speed.” In their Futurist painters’ manifesto, Boccioni, Cara, Russolo, and Ball emphasize the same belief in a modern age, a world so different due to the Second Industrial Revolution that not even the world of art remained unchanged:
What was true for the painters of yesterday is but a falsehood today…the vivifying current of science [must] soon deliver painting from academic tradition…We declare…that all forms of imitation must be despised, all forms of originality glorified…that all subjects previously used must be swept aside in order to express our whirling life of steel, of pride, of fever and of speed…that movement and light destroy the materiality of bodies.
In such language, the idealism of scientific progress, of the present, the modern as superior to all that had come before, is very evident. These high-minded notions came on the heels of new developments in the arts and sciences that challenged tradition in every sphere of society. However, as the text notes after its short introduction to the futurists and their ideas, strongly foreshadowing the troubled ahead, “few Europeans embraced the modern era with the unflinching abandon of the futurists.”
What was true for the painters of yesterday is but a falsehood today…the vivifying current of science [must] soon deliver painting from academic tradition…We declare…that all forms of imitation must be despised, all forms of originality glorified…that all subjects previously used must be swept aside in order to express our whirling life of steel, of pride, of fever and of speed…that movement and light destroy the materiality of bodies.
In such language, the idealism of scientific progress, of the present, the modern as superior to all that had come before, is very evident. These high-minded notions came on the heels of new developments in the arts and sciences that challenged tradition in every sphere of society. However, as the text notes after its short introduction to the futurists and their ideas, strongly foreshadowing the troubled ahead, “few Europeans embraced the modern era with the unflinching abandon of the futurists.”
Imperialism, once again
And if that painting didn’t describe the odd combination of idealism, self-righteousness, and racism that seems to have encapsulated the “new imperialism,” there is always “The White Man’s Burden.” Kipling did a good job, after all, and maybe it’s the rhyming scheme or the very British wording, but his poem rather exciting to read, in a sickening sort of way. It’s hard not to get caught up in the rhythm of the piece, although of course, reading it now, every reference to the “silent sullen peoples” makes me wince.
It makes me feel a bit more hopeful to read the letter of response to the Editor of The Nation on the opposite page in our textbook (page 813). In it, Alfred Webb describes the sense that one gets from reading it: “there is something almost sickening in this “imperial” talk of assuming and bearing burdens for the good of others.” But where his letter is most effective is when he states: “They are never assumed or held where they are not found to be of material advantage or ministering to honor or glory.” In this single line, I think Webb has summed up the gist of the new imperialism. Because the motives are, on one hand, this “material advantage,” whether that is cotton, iron, land to settle, diamonds, gold, labor, or some combination thereof, and, on the other hand, this high-handed sense of European virtue and a belief that their way is the correct way and it is their duty to bring that to others. Although it would be easy to read Kipling’s poem completely cynically, as an extension of Webb’s reading of it, and argue that it was only the resources that drove the Europeans toward imperialism, I think that would be an oversimplification. I honestly don’t think that Kipling is writing out of his arse, as the Brits might say, in “The White Man’s Burden.” Sure, it is straight-up propaganda, but I do think that there is something genuine there, and that, I think, is what makes it the perfect example of new imperialism.
Does anything about this sound familiar? Of course, it reminds me of our discussion in class about Iraq, and while I don’t really want to go into that argument again here because it didn’t go so well in class, I think it’s interesting to consider our own motives for going into the Middle East in the current political climate, and the muddled combination of high-minded democratic ideals, an odd sense of religious and political superiority, and a desperate need for oil. In that way, are we really so far from Kipling and his uncomfortably-phrased version of nationalism and imperialism?
It makes me feel a bit more hopeful to read the letter of response to the Editor of The Nation on the opposite page in our textbook (page 813). In it, Alfred Webb describes the sense that one gets from reading it: “there is something almost sickening in this “imperial” talk of assuming and bearing burdens for the good of others.” But where his letter is most effective is when he states: “They are never assumed or held where they are not found to be of material advantage or ministering to honor or glory.” In this single line, I think Webb has summed up the gist of the new imperialism. Because the motives are, on one hand, this “material advantage,” whether that is cotton, iron, land to settle, diamonds, gold, labor, or some combination thereof, and, on the other hand, this high-handed sense of European virtue and a belief that their way is the correct way and it is their duty to bring that to others. Although it would be easy to read Kipling’s poem completely cynically, as an extension of Webb’s reading of it, and argue that it was only the resources that drove the Europeans toward imperialism, I think that would be an oversimplification. I honestly don’t think that Kipling is writing out of his arse, as the Brits might say, in “The White Man’s Burden.” Sure, it is straight-up propaganda, but I do think that there is something genuine there, and that, I think, is what makes it the perfect example of new imperialism.
Does anything about this sound familiar? Of course, it reminds me of our discussion in class about Iraq, and while I don’t really want to go into that argument again here because it didn’t go so well in class, I think it’s interesting to consider our own motives for going into the Middle East in the current political climate, and the muddled combination of high-minded democratic ideals, an odd sense of religious and political superiority, and a desperate need for oil. In that way, are we really so far from Kipling and his uncomfortably-phrased version of nationalism and imperialism?
Imperialism
We talked a bit in class this week about “new imperialism” as compared to “old imperialism.” I feel like we didn’t really come to a consensus about what the difference was exactly, and maybe that’s because the distinction is complex and difficult to articulate, especially based on the small amounts of information that we have. However, looking at the picture on page 788 in our book, I feel like I have some idea. (It might help to look at this)
Maybe the reason we find it hard to explain, in rational terms, this “new imperialism” is because it wasn’t nearly as rational as one might expect. At least, that’s the sense that I get, looking at this picture. Even though there is emphasis on technological advance and new opportunities based on industrialism, it’s really about this vision of global progress, about the inevitability of the European way of life being brought to other places. And not just because that is pragmatic, or objectively the correct way to go about things, but because that is fundamentally right, according to the Europeans. From religion to industry to democracy, the Europeans had this strong sense of self-righteousness that manifests itself in this lithograph by the French School, from the figures on stage to the embracing mermaids.
Maybe the reason we find it hard to explain, in rational terms, this “new imperialism” is because it wasn’t nearly as rational as one might expect. At least, that’s the sense that I get, looking at this picture. Even though there is emphasis on technological advance and new opportunities based on industrialism, it’s really about this vision of global progress, about the inevitability of the European way of life being brought to other places. And not just because that is pragmatic, or objectively the correct way to go about things, but because that is fundamentally right, according to the Europeans. From religion to industry to democracy, the Europeans had this strong sense of self-righteousness that manifests itself in this lithograph by the French School, from the figures on stage to the embracing mermaids.
Then and Now
Our textbook barely mentions Benjamin Disraeli, noting only that he was a “shrewd Conservative,” and that he was convinced, for whatever reason, that the newly enfranchised demographic of the so-called “aristocrats of labor,” or skilled workers, would vote Conservative. The outcome of his bet was that the 1867 Reform Bill passed. As the text puts it, “the responsible working class had been deemed worthy to participate in the affairs of the state.” The text completely dismisses Disraeli’s thought process, however, given the overall outcome of the reform bill, which was an undeniable surge in liberal feeling in England in the decade or so after the Reform Bill was passed. But it makes me wonder: why? Why did Disraeli assume that these new voters would become Conservative? Was it just his own Conservative bias, assuming that these voters would automatically see what in his mind was the obviously correct way to vote? Or did he assume that they would, having been given the privilege of voting for the first time, become so changed from their less-privileged fellow workers, that they would want to hold onto their newly found status and all that that entailed? Did he think that they would be so overwhelmingly grateful that they had been allowed into this exclusive club that they would not think about their own interests any more and would feel that they owed the Conservatives who had helped pass the Reform Bill their vote? It’s interesting to think about, because immediately after reading it, I found myself considering today’s American politics, and times when a whole group of voters has become more Republican (generally, as far as I’ve seen, in the face of a perceived threat to security or property and wealth). I found myself thinking that, when a group gains privilege in some way, they generally want to hold on to it and lose their vested interest in the improvement, with the help of the government, of the lives of the less-privileged – the poor, the hungry, the unemployed. Thinking about it that way, it’s nice to think that these newly enfranchised skilled workers continued to push for reforms, that they helped to pave the way for socialist and labor politics towards the end of the century, remembering where they came from and what they stood for. On the other hand, maybe my assumptions don’t apply at all, because I haven’t in my lifetime seen a group given this sort of privilege – not of property or monetary wealth but of the ability to have their voices heard. Nevertheless, to think that these voices were unspoiled by such a fundamental change in their lives and in the makeup of the political system of the time, surely means something, no matter the situation.
"I have never seen an angel. Show me an angel, and I’ll paint one."
It’s not a coincidence that Courbet’s The Stone Bereakers was painted in 1848 and completed in 1849. It was directly after laborers in Courbet’s native France had rebelled against the bourgeois leaders of the newly formed Second Republic, demanding better working conditions and a redistribution of property. Even though the army quelled the revolution in three days, the uprising raised the issue of labor as a national concern and placed workers center stage. Thus, Courbet’s depiction of stone breakers in 1849 was very timely and populist.
The painting itself depicts, quite literally, two stone breakers, one young and the other old, in the act of breaking stones. This menial labor was traditionally the lot of the lowest in French society. Here, Courbet juxtaposes youth and old age, suggesting a vicious cycle: those born to poverty will remain poor their entire lives. The artist neither romanticizes nor idealizes the men’s work, instead depicting their thankless toil with accuracy and directness. His color palette is made up mostly of dirty browns and grays, conveying the dreary, dismal nature of the task, while the angular positioning of the older stone breakers limbs suggest a mechanical monotony of the work. At the same time, while the younger stone breaker is more upright, the older man is physically cowed by years of a demeaning job and lifestyle, almost bent out of shape, allowing us to see the unfortunate and painful trajectory that the young man will take as he goes about his life as a stone breaker.
The painting itself depicts, quite literally, two stone breakers, one young and the other old, in the act of breaking stones. This menial labor was traditionally the lot of the lowest in French society. Here, Courbet juxtaposes youth and old age, suggesting a vicious cycle: those born to poverty will remain poor their entire lives. The artist neither romanticizes nor idealizes the men’s work, instead depicting their thankless toil with accuracy and directness. His color palette is made up mostly of dirty browns and grays, conveying the dreary, dismal nature of the task, while the angular positioning of the older stone breakers limbs suggest a mechanical monotony of the work. At the same time, while the younger stone breaker is more upright, the older man is physically cowed by years of a demeaning job and lifestyle, almost bent out of shape, allowing us to see the unfortunate and painful trajectory that the young man will take as he goes about his life as a stone breaker.
Monday
A Nation: Some Sort of Summary
The most interesting questions posed this week, in the reading and then in class, were the ones that we never really did answer. For example, what is a nation? Considering we all allegedly are, as David puts it, “members” of the club that is the United States of America (with the possible exception of Andra), it is perhaps surprising that we all seem to have different opinions of what in fact makes a nation. It has been suggested that a nation must be made up of a group of similar people, although whether they must be of the same racial and cultural background or just like-minded and working toward a common aim is debatable. At the same time, it might be not who is included in a nation, as some have suggested, but who are not. The boundaries, after all, are what define a nation on the map. Oftentimes, like Mazzini argues, these boundaries seem arbitrary, even ridiculous. Alaska is part of the United States, yes, but why? It doesn’t look as if it should be. But if a nation is so defined by its place on a map, then what happens when the territory enclosed within those boundaries shrinks or grows? Of course the chunk of land could still be a nation, but why is that the case? Not that every nation will necessarily undergo the same disappearing act that Poland did once upon a time, but changes of territory do occur, and that might not seem like a big deal, but then again, around this same time, territorial expansion was very nearly ripping the infant United States apart at its seams. Then what are the permanent characteristics of a nation that define it as such? Maybe a certain, almost inexplicable ideal, a belief in the “American Dream,” and a land of opportunity. But while Mazzini might appreciate that, others who debated the concept of nationhood, especially Bismarck, would surely see ideals as a basis for a nation as ephemeral and weak. Ultimately, then, what are we left with? As things that seem to define this country change, just as the 13 colonies expanded to 50 states, it might seem hard to articulate exactly what makes us all a part of this nation. On the other hand, maybe, as some have suggested, we don’t need to articulate it. Maybe it’s the vague sense of what it means to be an American, founded in emotion and the ideal more than reason and pragmatism, that keeps us together, at least for now. As long as we change together, move forward together, maybe we don’t have to remain stuck in the past, or exclusive of people who are dissimilar, and perhaps that will strengthen us as a nation.
Apocalypse Now?
`Last week we spent a good deal of time in class talking about the next half-century, and what sort of apocalyptic predictions could be made about American civilization in that time period. The claim was that, if the unemployment rate rises to an unbearable figure, if enough children are going hungry and families feel that there is no opportunity for the next generation, if enough people lose their homes and their ability to support themselves, that something will necessarily change. That sounds reasonable enough to me, but what I take issue with is the idea that, as things get worse, the system as it exists will be incapable of supporting the people, that discontent will grow to such an extent that the working class will rise up and claim what is rightfully theirs. Reading about the “Hungry Forties,” I noticed a particular sentence that felt essential to this argument: “Hunger itself does not cause revolution. It does, however, test governments’ abilities and their legitimacy.” As an American citizen, in the past 8 years, no matter how frustrated I became with the failed policies of the Bush Administration, I never lost fail in the system of democracy itself. Maybe I lost a bit of faith in the American people, not quite believing that they had willingly elected Bush a second time around, but I felt that, ultimately, the system would find a better alternative in the end, and someone would be able to come in and tidy up at least a bit of the mess made in the past.
I guess, in that sense, I hold tight to the belief that, in this situation, the
Beethoven?
It doesn’t seem a coincidence the way the sections in the textbook are arranged for Chapter 20. The section on Romanticism is positioned directly before the section on “Reform and Revolution.” More specifically, the last bit of the Romanticism section is juxtaposed with the tale of the 1830 Revolution of France. It just so happens that that little bit is about Beethoven, and that it briefly mentions the political influences on his works, as well as his own personal physical decline and the pain that came from it. To quote the text,
Like many of his contemporaries he was caught up in a burst of enthusiasm for the French Revolution of 1789. Disillusionment set in when Napoleon, whom he had admired as a revolutionary and for whom he had originally named the Eroica symphony, crowned himself emperor and repudiated his principles, and Beethoven’s disappointment continued through the Napoleonic Wars. At the same time, by the age of thirty-two, Beethoven knew that he was losing his hearing. He hoped the problem would be cured, but it slowly put an end to his career as a virtuoso pianist; by 1819 he was completely deaf. As his condition worsened and his disenchantment deepened , he withdrew into composing, his solitude a powerful symbol of alienation and extraordinary creativity.
Why did I find the need to include that atrociously long quote? We all know that Beethoven didn’t have the happiest or luckiest of lives, but I think there’s more to it than that. Maybe it was just the experience of reading this directly before delving into the stories of bloody revolution during the 1830s and, perhaps worse, in 1848, but something about his particular struggle seemed characteristic of the times. It was in this specific era, when so much was being created, when such artistic creativity and possibility, such hope and belief in one’s leaders, could be so quickly turned to disillusionment. Here, it’s not just the political ideals being crushed, but also one’s chance of making a livelihood, of supporting oneself, that is being stolen during this chaotic time. Although no one would say that Beethoven’s experience was the same as that of the starving peasants or the unemployed workers in the 1840s, this little snippet about his life gives a sense, typical of the hardships of the time, of violation of the big things – hope in a new political era, democratic ideals – and the small ones that are really more essential – managing to get from one day the next, to support oneself, to make a living.
Like many of his contemporaries he was caught up in a burst of enthusiasm for the French Revolution of 1789. Disillusionment set in when Napoleon, whom he had admired as a revolutionary and for whom he had originally named the Eroica symphony, crowned himself emperor and repudiated his principles, and Beethoven’s disappointment continued through the Napoleonic Wars. At the same time, by the age of thirty-two, Beethoven knew that he was losing his hearing. He hoped the problem would be cured, but it slowly put an end to his career as a virtuoso pianist; by 1819 he was completely deaf. As his condition worsened and his disenchantment deepened , he withdrew into composing, his solitude a powerful symbol of alienation and extraordinary creativity.
Why did I find the need to include that atrociously long quote? We all know that Beethoven didn’t have the happiest or luckiest of lives, but I think there’s more to it than that. Maybe it was just the experience of reading this directly before delving into the stories of bloody revolution during the 1830s and, perhaps worse, in 1848, but something about his particular struggle seemed characteristic of the times. It was in this specific era, when so much was being created, when such artistic creativity and possibility, such hope and belief in one’s leaders, could be so quickly turned to disillusionment. Here, it’s not just the political ideals being crushed, but also one’s chance of making a livelihood, of supporting oneself, that is being stolen during this chaotic time. Although no one would say that Beethoven’s experience was the same as that of the starving peasants or the unemployed workers in the 1840s, this little snippet about his life gives a sense, typical of the hardships of the time, of violation of the big things – hope in a new political era, democratic ideals – and the small ones that are really more essential – managing to get from one day the next, to support oneself, to make a living.
Friday
Token Self-Indulgent Post on Romanticism (725-732)
I’ll admit I have a soft spot for Romanticism. I suppose that being fascinated by the Enlightenment and Romanticism is kind of like rooting for the Giants and the Dodgers, but I think the key to appreciating both is valuing the very things about the two movements that make them different. When I think of the Enlightenment, I imagine more than anything wise old men, gently stroking their beards and thinking philosophically about all sorts of obscure topics. It’s all very serious and disciplined and exacting. When I imagine the great thinkers of the Enlightenment, I can’t seem them suffering fools gladly – something about them seems a bit condescending and self-satisfied, in a very stagnant, almost stifling sort of way.
Romanticism, on the other side, is like the much younger cousin of the Enlightenment, the black sheep of the family, the teenager whose hair makes old ladies go “tsk” and who writes angsty poetry on the internet. There is something charming about the coarseness, the excessive emotion of the poetry, the paintings, the novels, that makes you wince but at the same time draws you in. You can’t approach the Romantics the same way you would the philosophes. They’re a different breed, but I can’t help loving that about them.
Romanticism, on the other side, is like the much younger cousin of the Enlightenment, the black sheep of the family, the teenager whose hair makes old ladies go “tsk” and who writes angsty poetry on the internet. There is something charming about the coarseness, the excessive emotion of the poetry, the paintings, the novels, that makes you wince but at the same time draws you in. You can’t approach the Romantics the same way you would the philosophes. They’re a different breed, but I can’t help loving that about them.
Thursday
On Work
Yesterday in class, during our discussion of Marxism, we drew a picture of a hopeless worker laboring day after day at a mindless job. We talked about an assembly line, as the most recognizable example of a job that’s going nowhere. It reminded me of that past Saturday, when I had worked at St. Anthony’s on the sort of cafeteria-style assembly line. It’s a soup kitchen, more or less, so the experience isn’t like working a job, and I’m not trying to equate the two, but since the memory popped into my head, I thought about whether it had been enjoyable or not. I was working the starch, scooping German potato salad that was disturbingly yellow and goopy, and the experience did get repetitive. After three hours, I was developing a blister on the inside of my right forefinger, and I had fallen into a sort of rhythm, almost a trance I guess. And that doesn’t mean that I know what it’s like to be a factory worker – that claim would be laughable. But even that little peek into such an experience was interesting because I could see myself working there every day and not feeling alienated.
Why is that the case? I think that maybe, at least for me, alienation isn’t based on simply the nature of the job. A job on an assembly line isn’t intrinsically awful. And maybe that’s where the means to the end that so many people have been talking about in their blog entries comes in, because a job must be justified by something, and maybe it’s the reward at the end of the day. But I’d like to think that that end isn’t always something like making money, getting a promotion, getting bigger and more important in the world of business or whatever. Because maybe the work itself can be tied up in the end; maybe the attitude that a worker has towards the work or what the worker thinks will come of it can determine the degree of alienation he experiences when working the job. In this situation, I didn’t feel alienated at all, because I knew where exactly each scoop of potato salad was going, and to whom, and knowing that I was helping feed someone who was hungry made me feel like I hadn’t wasted three or four hours.
I don’t expect that, when I’m older, I’ll have the luxury of volunteering and not working a true job. But I’m surprised to hear so many other students say or write that they don’t expect to enjoy their work, seeing it as only a step on the way to success. On one hand, I understand that very few of us would choose to work if we could afford not to. And that we work, more often than not, for the things we have to look forward to after the work is done. But at the same time, I feel like our society is such a workaholic one that there must be something to it that we value, and I don’t think it’s just the money. When I think back to elementary school, I remember the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Even now in high school, I feel like we’re allowed to choose our classes, encouraged to follow a path that we find interesting, with the implication that we’ll eventually follow creative writing or photography or marine biology to a career and that, in that path that we’ve chosen for ourselves, we’ll find some degree of happiness. I don’t know whether that happiness will come from a monetary reward, from the work itself, or from knowing what good that work is doing in someone else’s life, or a combination of the three, and I suspect it’ll be different for all of us. Maybe I’m an idealist, but I’ll hold onto that idea for as long as I can. For now, even if I find myself resenting writing yet another blog entry for MEH, I’ll try to remember that I chose this class for a reason, and maybe I’ll even end up writing about something I find interesting and engaging, so, even if what I’m really looking forward to is finally going to sleep when I finish this last assignment of the night, I can say I didn’t go on auto-pilot and go through the motions of doing my schoolwork, disconnected and disinterested.
Sunday
Back To The Future (709-717)
Something that I found particularly interesting in last night’s reading was merely a side note in a description of Metternich’s foreign policy.
The Austrian foreign minister Klemens von Metternich, perhaps the most influential conservative diplomat of the early nineteenth century, called revolution a “sickness,” “plague,” and “cancer,” and with his allies set out to inoculate Europe against any further outbreaks. As Metternch and others saw it, revolution produced war. Peace, therefore, rested on avoiding political turmoil and keeping a firm grip on domestic affairs in all the countries of Europe.
Of course, Metternich’s theory is discussed and even questioned in detail later on. On one hand, it seems that his attempts to broker peace, most notably the Congress of Vienna, were not only very significant, but also, arguably, successful. Putting aside the discussion about what constitutes peace and whether to take into account the minor and not-so-minor wars over the next century, it is undeniable that the Congress helped to prevent a major European war until 1914.
However, what I find more interesting is an assumption that Coffin merely glosses over – that Metternich’s main goal was peace, and avoiding war at all cost, using harsh repressive tactics along the way. That is a completely understandable aim, considering the extent of the turmoil of the earlier, revolutionary and Napoleonic periods, but it still seems worth mentioning more than as something to be taken for granted. Perhaps I’m simply remembering Napoleon’s narcissistic obsession with conquest and war in order to boost his image, but this desire for peace above all else feels unfamiliar. It seems to me a vast change from the mercantilists and their dependence on war and expansion, as well as seemingly a majority of the rulers we’ve read of who would never have dreamed of sacrificing so much for and putting so much energy into protecting peace. Perhaps it’s unintentional on Coffin’s part, but something about the phrasing drew my attention. I don’t know whether this emphasis on peace is simply a reaction to the tumultuous time immediately beforehand and part of an attempt to rebuild Europe, or whether the function of war in the eyes of monarchs has changed and at this time the possible unifying effect and gains of territory and wealth are not worth the damage done, but watching how these ideas play out in the period to come could be interesting.
If anyone else noticed a similar trend, wants to point out an obvious gap in my logic or give explanations for or their opinions on the things I’ve wondered about in this post, please comment or reply in your blog.
The Austrian foreign minister Klemens von Metternich, perhaps the most influential conservative diplomat of the early nineteenth century, called revolution a “sickness,” “plague,” and “cancer,” and with his allies set out to inoculate Europe against any further outbreaks. As Metternch and others saw it, revolution produced war. Peace, therefore, rested on avoiding political turmoil and keeping a firm grip on domestic affairs in all the countries of Europe.
Of course, Metternich’s theory is discussed and even questioned in detail later on. On one hand, it seems that his attempts to broker peace, most notably the Congress of Vienna, were not only very significant, but also, arguably, successful. Putting aside the discussion about what constitutes peace and whether to take into account the minor and not-so-minor wars over the next century, it is undeniable that the Congress helped to prevent a major European war until 1914.
However, what I find more interesting is an assumption that Coffin merely glosses over – that Metternich’s main goal was peace, and avoiding war at all cost, using harsh repressive tactics along the way. That is a completely understandable aim, considering the extent of the turmoil of the earlier, revolutionary and Napoleonic periods, but it still seems worth mentioning more than as something to be taken for granted. Perhaps I’m simply remembering Napoleon’s narcissistic obsession with conquest and war in order to boost his image, but this desire for peace above all else feels unfamiliar. It seems to me a vast change from the mercantilists and their dependence on war and expansion, as well as seemingly a majority of the rulers we’ve read of who would never have dreamed of sacrificing so much for and putting so much energy into protecting peace. Perhaps it’s unintentional on Coffin’s part, but something about the phrasing drew my attention. I don’t know whether this emphasis on peace is simply a reaction to the tumultuous time immediately beforehand and part of an attempt to rebuild Europe, or whether the function of war in the eyes of monarchs has changed and at this time the possible unifying effect and gains of territory and wealth are not worth the damage done, but watching how these ideas play out in the period to come could be interesting.
If anyone else noticed a similar trend, wants to point out an obvious gap in my logic or give explanations for or their opinions on the things I’ve wondered about in this post, please comment or reply in your blog.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)