Steve Harris
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The Arc of the Universe

4/28/2023

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“The arc of the moral universe… bends towards justice.”

So said the abolitionist Theodore Parker in the run up to the Civil War, thereafter adapted by Martin Luther King and Barack Obama, among others, to provide encouragement, patience, an inspiration in the US’ ongoing struggle with racism. They are fine words and a noble sentiment, but there is little evidence that the universe cares about (or even knows about) the idea of justice or morality.

Parker and King were deeply steeped in Christian thought and scripture, but there is nothing of God, Jesus, or the Gospels in this phrasing. Rather it is a secularization of the traditional Christian theology in which long-suffering humans are assured that their pains and sacrifices will be redeemed in the end. When Jesus reappears for the Second Coming, surely justice and morality will guide Him in His judgment of men.

When, just a few years earlier, Marx characterized religion as the “opiate of the masses,” he was critiquing this effort (not just of Christianity) to assuage the pain of everyday lives in the world of the 19C. From his perspective, it was a distraction from the condition of the downtrodden working people of the world so that they wouldn’t see their true condition and rise up in revolution (as Marx’s view of history saw as inevitable). Marx went on to propose another utopian scheme (commonly called communism) which proved (relatively quickly (~140 years)) to be more challenging to implement in the real world than he had hoped. As practiced by communist regimes in the 20 and 21C, Marxism was deployed as an opiate itself; a justification for sacrifice for the advance of socialism. We’re still waiting.

Another variant on this theme can be seen in the idea of a continuing and fundamental “progress” which came to maturity in the aftermath of the Enlightenment (Condorcet, 1795) and which animated much of European “civilization” across the “long-19C” until it fell off the cliff in WWI. While the aim of this “progress” was not some fixed event as the Christian version would have it, directionally, they were similar, However, the universe knows as little of “progress” as it does of justice, as both WWI and recent bumps in the world have shown.

Indeed, my biggest problem with the whole concept is not the tenuousness of “progress” or the ambiguity of “justice,” but rather placing the “universe” (or its more terrestrial manifestation: Western Civilization) as the motive force for either. Placing humans as the recipients and beneficiaries of this cosmological condition not only does us a disservice, but contributes to a passivity that is more than sufficiently prevalent in our species.

I have a debate with a friend about whether the human condition is improvable (i.e., whether “human nature” is immutable). He doesn’t think so. I, on the other hand, see (or desperately want to see) slight improvement over time. I just think that any such “progress” is not so much a matter of a few decades, but rather millennia. Perhaps I’m deceiving myself; let me know when we get to 3023, we may have enough of a track record by then to tell.

Those who urge a long-term confidence in progress/justice do well to urge us to not get too caught up in the bumps and slides of everyday life (sometimes, it’s one step forward and two back); counseling (at least implicitly) that we can overcome set-backs and regain our course. The other problem with relying on a long-term perspective (i.e. cosmological time-frames) is that the emergence of justice may run into the wall of technological catastrophe (environmental, nuclear, or otherwise). Stated differently, we may get bounced too far off course to regain the curve of our “arc” and recover (and it will be up to the cockroaches as the successors to humanity to devise their own version of justice).

There’s no reason not to wish/hope/believe in the inspiration of Parker, King, and Obama, but there’s also no reason to sit around and wait for the universe to take care things on its own; sometimes, too, we need to actively step up and ensure we don’t go over a cliff in the meantime while keeping our eyes on the prize.


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Let's Talk Turkey

4/21/2023

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Turkey has been much in the news of late; most recently because of the horrendous damage and death from the earthquake in a country with limited public resources and dubious enforcement of preventative building codes. There’s also been some coverage of the Presidential election next month in which Erdogan will seek (yet) another term; falling into the classic pattern of self-proclaimed indispensable leaders who build overlarge palaces and drive their countries into the ground over time. Erdogan is notable for his peculiar approach to inflation (currently over 50%/year): cutting interest rates and stimulating the economy even further… he’s a real head-scratcher.

But even before that, he garnered attention for the elegant dance he was doing on the international stage, juggling between Iran, Russia, and the West with regard to Israel, Syria, and Ukraine. He actually seemed to be pulling off a delicate balance which is pretty impressive given the players and the multidynamic situations Turkey faces.

Of course, Turkey/Ottoman Empire has had long experience in being at the crux of regional imbroglios, with feet in many camps. For hundreds of years, still run by the Byzantine Empire left over from the glory days of Rome, it was the juncture between a still-slow/sleepy/medieval Europe and the “mysterious Orient.”  (Oh, the empire was the site of the Crusades, too! “It’s always good to beat up on a Saracen!”) When the Ottomans swept in during the 15C, their new blocking position put pressure on Spain and Portugal to seek new trading connections to Cathay and Cipongu (Japan), thus launching the globalization of European empires which culminated in the 19C.  Meanwhile, the Ottomans stretched their own empire directly into Europe, famously laying siege to Vienna in both the 16C and 17C and occupying diminishing chunks of SE Europe into the 20C.

When added to their formidable presence in the Mediterranean during this time, “the Turk” (as the Sultan was called by (resentful/envious/fearful and generally ignorant) Europeans) was a major player in regional geopolitics, butting heads with Russia, Poland, France, Spain, various Habsburgs and a gaggle of others. Indeed, no small part of the coherence of “Christian Europe” emerged out of the differentiation/hatred/fear of the Muslims of which the Ottoman Empire was the largest manifestation. By the 19C, even though the Ottoman Empire was overstretched from the Atlantic to the Persian Gulf. Still, it had to be taken seriously geopolitically and, as “Europe” was taking shape diplomatically in the aftermath of Napoleon, the Ottomans were included in the club of major (European) states even if they were considerably different from a cultural/ethnic perspective. This tension was exacerbated by the economic/technological progress of the industrial revolution which accelerated the development of global power by Western European countries and left the Ottomans—with little by way of resources or cultural tools—trailing (…badly). In addition, by this time, the Ottoman Empire, like those of the Russians and the Austro-Hungarians, faced the centrifugal forces of nationalism. It was not for nothing that by the middle of the 19C, Turkey was often referred to as the “sick man” of Europe. By late in the century, the principal (European) powers were engaged in long-term jockeying over picking off pieces of the declining behemoth.

Despite efforts at reform, Turkey was unable to keep up. This led (similar to Russia) to a combination of resentment vis-à-vis the Western Powers and an urgent desire to emulate them. Even the “Young Turk” revolt of 1908 which sought to modernize the (now clearly diminished) country couldn’t figure out how to mobilize nationalistic energy across a disparate empire which, on top of Western interventions, contributed to the bloody efforts to rid themselves of Armenians and Greeks in an attempt at some sort of religious and ethnic coherence (which echoes today in its relationship with the Kurds).

A bad choice in WWI (siding with Germany and Austria-Hungary against Russia and Britain and France) didn’t help. Still, by the post-WWII era, geopolitics trumped religious differences and a cultural/economic mismatch. In order to flank the Soviet Union, Turkey was brought into NATO and, eventually, even had the prospect of joining the EU dangled in front of it (never to be fulfilled).

So, now, in the 21C, it remains caught betwixt and between. A bit modern and a bit traditional/underdeveloped. A bit secular and a bit Muslim. A big regional country, but caught between Russia and the West, between the West and Iran (and other Muslim countries). Too big to ignore (84M people, slightly bigger than Germany), but not big enough to throw its weight around more than a couple of hundred kilometers from its borders.

There is no easy path here, even if some stability (post-Erdogan) emerges. And, as much as I dislike his autocratism, his disrespect for human rights, and his terrible grasp of economics, Erdogan has managed to keep Turkey in the thick of the global mix. I hope he loses, but his successor will have serious challenges in repairing the domestic economy and society and in maintaining his balance on the world stage.

I’ve been to Turkey three times over the past forty years. I’d be happy to go again. The people are immensely friendly, the food is delicious, the cultures are rich, the history is deep (9,000-year-old cities, Greece, Rome, Byzantium…).  It’s a great place to see the diversity of paths in the world all in one place. The Hagia Sophia was a cathedral in Constantinople, a grand mosque under the Ottomans, a museum in modern Istanbul (and, apparently, just reconverted into a mosque). It was the largest building in the world for a thousand years (our Pentagon has only been around for 75). The Turks will get past the earthquake, they will get past Erdogan and will be richly redolent for some time to come.


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The Fallacies of Instant History

4/14/2023

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There’s a difference between current events/journalism and history. When I teach my course in recent European history, I stop about the year 2000 (with a coda on Brexit). The last twenty-ish years are too recent for historians to get much perspective. As I have previously quoted E.H. Carr: “History is a dialogue between the Past and the Present,” and until there is a decent-enough interval of time, the past and the present are too close to each other to have much to say. So much of what splashes across our daily feeds/consciousness becomes—in due course—ephemera. To be sure, there is history to be mined from ephemera, but it requires a delicate touch to extract those items that still resonate with meaning after twenty or a hundred or 250 years; and the historian who does so must start with a particular frame of reference or they’re just picking up flotsam on the beach.

So, it was with some skepticism that I saw a piece in the NYT recently under the headline “100 Years from Now, This is What We’ll Say Got Us Through the Pandemic.”

I needn’t have worried that the authors made any serious attempt at history (the title notwithstanding). The article comprised short pieces from 17 “cultural critics” on “Pop Culture Moments that Define the Covid Era.” As if.

As if the “Covid Era” is how people of the 22C will see the last four years. It’s certainly possible, of course, but given the geopolitical crisis in Ukraine, the threat of war in Taiwan, the precariousness of global democracy, and the nigh unavoidable environmental cataclysm, it’s not clear that Covid will make the cut as the defining phenomenon of the 2020s.

As if eras are, in any event, definable by cultural “moments.” Even in our media-crazed times, eras tend to be defined by geopolitics and economics. In the list of “big things” in 1939, “Gone with the Wind,” and “The Wizard of Oz”, the first NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament, the birth of “Batman,” and the opening of LaGuardia Airport don’t make much of a dent in the start of the European phase of WWII. Ditto for the 1929 birth of “Popeye,” and “Tintin,” the opening of MOMA in New York and the invention of the game of “Bingo,” which are similarly second tier to the start of the Great Depression.

As if “pop culture” tells us much of lasting import. I will readily admit to not being tuned into “pop” culture (I was wholly (and blissfully) unaware of most of the NYT list of 17 “must see/do” items).  I am particularly ready to take a stand, nonetheless, that any list that includes any Kardashian or the eighth version of some video game is worth my time to consider. More fundamentally, however, the nature of “pop” culture is to be popular and (almost by definition) ephemeral. The article’s claim of significance is belied by the mental concentration that would be required for us to recall even half a dozen significant “pop” cultural icons of 2003. If it doesn’t mean much after twenty years, then a century seems like quite a stretch.

As if a list of seventeen items can claim to broadly represent the state of US culture during this time. I am aware of the standing of Taylor Swift, for example. But as with her predecessors, Celine Dion, Cher, Barbra Streisand, et al., their appeal only goes so far. This list includes but one book (seven streaming video shows), nothing from Hispanic culture, barely a nod to the heartland or to spontaneous events (other than Will Smith’s slap of Chris Rock at the Oscars); nothing about serious culture, nothing about anybody outside the US of A. It’s a highly selective metro/media-skewed selection.

As if these are the things that “got us through the Pandemic.” There is certainly inspiration and solace and insight to be had from a society’s culture in times of death and trial. For ordinary folks, the fear, disruption, and pain were countered by perseverance, creativity, and mutual support.  Where is any mention of the outpouring of support for front-line health care workers by banging pots at 7pm? Where is the awe at the speed with which vaccines appeared?  Where are the manifestations of heroism and hunkering-down. Unfortunately, the list trivializes the trauma, the courage, the science, and the humanity of the Covid experience.

As if there’s any sense of history. Per the Carr quote above, we have virtually no idea what people a century hence will think about us or how they will characterize our age. As an exercise in constructing a virtual “time-capsule,” this is much more about self-reflection; i.e., it tells us much more about how this particular group of “cultural critics” saw their peculiar slice of the world in 2023 than it will tell historians about what will seem historically significant. Indeed, I suspect I would be quite surprised, even as a 22C cultural historian of the US in the 21C, if more than a couple of the seventeen items still stood out.

Was it the stuff on this list that “got us through the Pandemic?” Rather to the contrary, one could argue that they were more noise and distraction than aid and comfort. Given our sorry national record on “listening to the science” and the unwillingness of millions to make voluntary sacrifices in the pursuit of “freedom” and “normalcy,” our “getting through” isn’t so much to celebrate.

Depending on how you count it almost 1.5M folks in the US died because of the pandemic, part of 20M+ globally. They, their families, and the many millions more who had serious repercussions—of health or livelihood—didn’t “get through.” Historians of the 22C will assess whether that’s more meaningful than a few yuks on some Netflix dating show

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Knowledge and Liberty

4/7/2023

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I’ve been reading a bunch of Locke and Rousseau lately. My course on the history of revolution emphasizes their role as intellectual godfathers of the American and French Revolutions, respectively. Both wrestle with the question of why people get together in organized societies and both make use of an idea called “the state of nature” (although they use the concept a bit differently). There is a core idea, however, that people when agree to live in society, they give up some aspect of their unbridled freedom to do as they wish; they (implicitly) acknowledge that they will forego doing things which harm another person (that’s the theory in any case). In other words, their liberty goes only so far as it doesn’t infringe on the liberty (life, liberty, property) of another member of society.

From one perspective, this is not all that far from the basic moral principle (with plenty of Judeo-Christian expressions): “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Kant said much the same thing as a premise of his moral philosophy (which he called the “categorical imperative”).

Now it’s no coincidence that these ideas were being bandied about in the 17/18C at the same time as the so-called “scientific revolution” was gathering speed. The rational analysis of the way the world and nature work was closely connected to the rational analysis of how humans and societies work.

Here’s the problem: the more we know about how the world works, the more we understand the ramification of human actions/omissions, the more we see how those actions can infringe on the lives/liberties/property of others, and therefore, the more we are therefore obliged to constrain our actions (i.e. reduce our liberty).

Thus, the discovery of knowledge (e.g., about pollution, or psychological distress, or market pricing mechanisms) has to lead to a loss of liberty. The addition of laws about sulfur dioxide emissions, hate crimes, or price-fixing are a tangible manifestation of the increase of knowledge, all of which goes a long way towards explaining why a mere ten commandments is wholly insufficient for a modern society.

This tension is not novel; human societies have been developing more and more constraints for millennia. Even ten commandments were not enough for Hammurabi (whose code (from about 3700 years ago) ran to about 300 laws. Debates about freedom burgeoned in the 17/18C in which state intrusion into individual liberty was  consistently decried; sometimes in opposition to despotic/absolutist monarchical power, sometimes against  more modern modes of the “State” (whether democratic or dictatorial). The most frequent concern was with taxation, constraints on trade were also a popular subject of attack. Typically, those with property are better positioned in society to participate in the political process, so much is heard of infringements of “private” economic power. These groups have been (as Marx said) in control of the “means of production,” so they are also concerned with the state’s infringement of their liberty to operate their businesses. Thus, the consistent string of attacks on the “regulatory state.”

So, where does the knowledge part fit in? First, as the basis of an expanding set of “regulatory state” rules limiting the actions of those with power in society in order to protect the individual liberties of those affected by that unbridled power. Labor, antitrust, and environmental regulations are important parts of this category. Other incumbents (e.g., professionals from lawyers to hair dressers) also push for limits on entry (i.e. on competition), nominally to protect innocent consumers. All of this arises because we have plausible theories of causation and effect (e.g. OSHA-like rules to prevent black lung disease, prevention of monopolies which raise prices, and mandatory composting ordinances to reduce the stress on nature from land-fills). Yes, it’s true that the Code of Federal Regulations now runs almost 200,000 pages (about a 9-fold increase since 1960). The question I’m raising here is to what degree this increase is a function of changing levels of understanding of how private actions affect others (as compared with changing political outlooks (e.g., “liberalism’s” pro-active approach to addressing societal challenges)).

The second way in which there is an inverse correlation between knowledge and liberty approaches the same phenomenon from another angle. The premise of modern liberalism is that the state needs to actively support the abilities of all individuals to fulfill their goals (consistent with the usual caveats). So, the same increase in understand of cause and effect—in terms of both the world/nature and humans/society—means that we now understand that there is more for the state to do to foster that aspect of liberty (“positive liberty” as Isaiah Berlin called it). This means not only more protections (the flip side of the regulatory state noted above), but also increased intervention in basic economic arrangements of society, i.e. redistributive economics and progressive taxation.

None of this analytic framework which I have just laid out tells us very much about exactly where lines should be drawn in particular situations. There are still justifiable concerns about overreaching bureaucracies and stifling of individual initiative. There are still plenty of reasons to be concerned about economic inequality and the inability of the market (or should I say the unwillingness of those with economic power to alter fundamental market parameters) to recognize and incorporate into its pricing mechanisms the real effects of many human actions. There is still a need for ethical debate and the outcome, as I say, in any particular case is not so clear.

Nonetheless, as a historian, I can’t help but wonder about how the continuing increase of knowledge (of causes and effects) will alter our mix of liberties. We can’t “unknow” the implications of our actions. We can, however, accept that some degree of these generally visible harms might be acceptable as a trade-off for the less visible harms of the loss of liberties. Such an exercise in subtle political engineering might be beyond the capabilities of our current political culture. So we end up with less effective policies, less liberty, and a gnawing sense of unease that we’re off track.

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    Condemned to Repeat It --
    Musings on history, society, and the world.

    I don't actually agree with Santayana's famous quote, but this is my contribution to my version of it: "Anyone who hears Santayana's quote is condemned to repeat it."

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