The French on French and other languages

When Jack and I got off the ferry in Calais, my bad French figured to be more valuable to us than his pretty good Latin. I was, in effect, my younger brother’s lifeline to the world around him for the upcoming week.

[Note: I wrote this essay last week as one of the models for my students’ research comparison paper. It features an evolving thesis.]

We boarded the train for Paris. Even though everyone on the train had just come from England, the announcements over the train’s speakers were only in French. I recognized few of the words from my high school French classes, so there was little I could do to dispel Jack’s growing anxiety. But I did remember what I had learned in college about the French’s fears of their language being invaded by English words.

This seemingly unreasonable fear continues today. The French have what The Guardian describes as “a deep-rooted anxiety over linguistic decay and decline” (Gallix). The first paragraph in the latest edition of Fodor’s France, one of the most popular tour books available in English, states that “it may be a cliché to say that the French fret over their place in the world, but they do.” To maintain their place, the French “are rallying to protect” their language, Fodor’s reports (Hervieux 10). But when weren’t the French so rallying?

The French have made protecting their language’s purity and influence a national, and even a governmental, policy for centuries. The French government started the French Academy in 1635, and from that point until the present, the Academy has been “the world’s most powerful state-backed linguistic authority.” The Academy’s chief mission is to maintain France’s official dictionary, which is also “a registry of what is officially French.” The dictionary doesn’t get updated often, with new editions coming out no more often than every fifty years or so. If you want to speak true French, your diction is stuck in a time warp and includes just the words contained in the latest edition, which was published in 1935, along with words contained in infrequent updates (Smith).

Besides serving as an official lexicographer, the French Academy serves as “the recognized authority on neologisms, particularly those coined to replace persistent Anglicisms in the language, like courriel for e-mail” (Smith). French agencies send them English words and phrases that have crept into French, and the Academy invents phrases to replace them.

By the time Jack and I left the train and its (to us) incomprehensible intercom, I felt as if we were creeping into France, too, and that we were as unwanted as our American English. I needed to find out how to catch a bus to meet our hosts in a Parisian suburb, so I approached the lady at the train station’s information kiosk.

“Do you speak English?” I asked in flawless English.

She frowned at me. She lifted her head dramatically to face the station’s domed ceiling. She sighed dramatically. She lowered her head, slowly and dramatically, and she stared at me again.

“Yes,” she said, finally. Resignedly.

I determined at that moment to speak only in my butchered French for the rest of the trip. It would be a form of revenge. The person at this information kiosk was by design the face of France, I figured, the first person in France with whom many people from England, at least, would come in contact. Who in the world could relate to this lady, or by extension, to such a people?

After all these centuries, too, the English-speaking world still can’t relate to the French Academy. Britain’s newspaper The Telegraph recently asked readers to imagine Britain’s Department for Culture, Media & Sport “setting up a website called ‘Say It in English’ where you can key in French terms such as ‘cul-de-sac’ . . . and learn that the correct way to say [it] is ‘dead-end road’” (Edge). In other words, the shoe couldn’t possibly be on the other foot.

But it is, in a way. Like the French, the English have an all-encompassing dictionary that takes a select group decades to update. Unlike its French counterpart, however, the Oxford English Dictionary (“OED”) doesn’t exist to control the language. Instead, the OED is a sprawling affair, accepting entries so long as its lexicographers find “evidence of widespread currency.” It has over 600,000 words compared with the French Academy dictionary’s 35,000 words (Wallop). As the OED’s web site says, the OED contains “the history of individual words, and of the language – traced through 3 million quotations, from classic literature and specialist periodicals to film scripts and cookery books” (“About”). Comparing the French Academy’s proscriptive dictionary with the freewheeling and labyrinthine OED, therefore, is like comparing Paris’s wide avenues with London’s hodgepodge streets.

A comparison of dog breeds, though, may be more instructive than a comparison of street layouts. English is “a mongrel language” while French is a purebred. The Telegraph points out that English “has absorbed vast numbers of foreign words over centuries of invasion or takeover by Saxons, Danes, Normans, Dutch and Germans [while] the French tongue is more self-contained.” France regulates its language like dog breeders regulate breeding: “French is treated as a top-down affair, policed by the state: an affaire d’état, if you will.” English, on the other hand, is unregulated and flexible, which “probably gives it an extra edge in our ever-shifting digital world” (Gallix). English is a howling, unpretentious language that roams the streets at night.

As my brother and I roamed the streets of Paris, Versailles, and Chartres for a week that summer after my graduation from law school, I was surprised to find a uniformly positive response by the French to the vengeance I had intended to inflict on them for their representative’s rudeness. For some reason, the French loved my broken French. Everyone I ran into grinned – not with derision, mind you, but with appreciation – as I employed my rusty French. Granted, they patiently corrected me, but never offensively. They wanted me to try.

Was this French friendliness a sign of the French language’s frailty? Were the French so desperate about maintaining their language’s future that they would fawn over any attempt by a member of the English-speaking world to speak their language? Years later, when my wife and I hosted a French teenager for a week in our Virginia home, the case was altered: he never attempted to speak French with us, and we were critical, at least inwardly, of his intermediate-level English. My wife and I were certainly not as encouraging with our guest as I remembered everyone in France as being with me.

French may be frailer than English, but French isn’t dying. In fact, over a recent four-year period, the world’s French speakers grew by twenty-five percent: the “number of French speakers increased from about 220 million in 2010 to 274 million in 2014, making it the fifth most widely spoken language in the world” (Irish). French still doesn’t rival English in world use, but decades after the loss of France’s worldwide empire, French is holding its own. If French isn’t dying, then what explains France’s positive reception to my meager attempts at speaking its language?

The French love all modern languages, not just French. They love to learn them. The French’s arguably self-defeating protection of its own language doesn’t extend to its educational system. Even though the French constitution “states in its second article, ‘la langue de la République est le français’” (Radford), the French child learns two or three modern foreign languages by the time he or she graduates from high school (“Promoting”). In the debate about making English America’s national language, many Americans have associated the argument in favor of officially sanctioning English with the “dumbing down” of foreign-language instruction in American schools. The French have proven that the two aren’t necessarily associated.

France is innovative, too, in foreign language instruction. For instance, each French school, be it elementary, middle, or high school, “must form at least one partnership with a school abroad as a basis for easier organization of language trips and exchanges between French and foreign students.” French schools’ language instruction is reinforced in many French cities by cultural institutes “founded with the aim of highlighting the key role that foreign cultural institutes in Paris play in promoting cultural diversity.” The result is not just a greater number of students taking a greater number of language courses. French students graduate fully proficient in two or three foreign languages (“Promoting”). By contrast, I didn’t graduate from either my American high school or my American college proficient in French, a language I took for many semesters in both institutions.

I’m not an unusual American in this regard. Only a quarter of Americans claim to speak a language other than English well. Of that quarter, “89% acquired these skills in the childhood home, compared with 7% citing school as their main setting for language acquisition” (Devlin). In other words, almost all Americans fluent in a language other than English learned that language at home, not at school. In contrast to French schools’ stringent foreign-language requirements, the U.S. has no nationwide standards for foreign-language learning. Instead, as a recent Pew Research Center report concludes, many “states allow individual school districts to set language requirements for high school graduation, and primary schools have very low rates of even offering foreign-language course work” (Devlin). Given the American public’s ambivalence about the utility of learning a foreign language, it’s not surprising that less than two percent of Americans claim to have learned a foreign language in school.

The French weren’t showing weakness when they encouraged my attempts at broken French. They were showing strength: they love language, and they were encouraging me in my own nascent love. Their protection of French does not come at the expense of their children’s foreign-language education. Perhaps, at bottom, it’s the French people’s love of language that drives them to learn foreign languages while so fiercely regulating their own.

Works Cited

“About.” Oxford English Dictionary, Oxford University Press, 2016, public.oed.com/about/. Accessed 6 Mar. 2017.

Devlin, Kat. “Learning a Foreign Language a ‘Must’ in Europe, Not so in America.” Pew Research Center, Pew Research Center, 13 July 2015, www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2015/07/13/learning-a-foreign-language-a-must-in-europe-not-so-in-america/#. Accessed 6 Mar. 2017.

Edge, Simon. “The British Invasion the French Cannot Ignore.” Telegraph.co.uk, Jul 31 2013, ProQuest Newsstand, http://eznvcc.vccs.edu:2048/login?url=http://search.proquest.com.eznvcc.vccs.edu:2048/docview/1415911317?accountid=12902.

Gallix, Andrew. “The French Protect Their Language like the British Protect Their Currency | Andrew Gallix.” Opinion, Guardian News and Media, 23 May 2013, www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/may/23/language-french-identity. Accessed 6 Mar. 2017.

Hervieux, Linda, et al. Fodor’s 2016 France. New York, Fodor’s Travel, 2016.

Irish, John. “Rise in French Speakers since 2010 a Boost for France: Report.” Reuters, Thomson Reuters, 5 Nov. 2014, www.reuters.com/article/us-france-language-economy-idUSKBN0IP1V220141105. Accessed 6 Mar. 2017.

“Promoting Multilingualism.” France Diplomatie, French Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International Development, 2017, www.diplomatie.gouv.fr/en/french-foreign-policy/francophony/promoting-multilingualism/. Accessed 6 Mar. 2017.

Radford, Gavin. “French Language Law: The Attempted Ruination of France’s Linguistic Diversity.” Trinity College Law Review, Dublin University Law Society, 13 July 2015, trinitycollegelawreview.org/french-language-law-the-attempted-ruination-of-frances-linguistic-diversity/. Accessed 6 Mar. 2017.

Smith, Craig S. “Académie Solemnly Mans the Barricades Against Impure French.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 31 May 2005, www.nytimes.com/2005/05/31/books/academie-solemnly-mans-the-barricades-against-impure-french.html. Accessed 6 Mar. 2017.

Wallop, Harry. “Oxford English Dictionary: How the Words Are Chosen.” The Telegraph, Telegraph Media Group, 30 Nov. 2010, www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/8168472/Oxford-English-Dictionary-how-the-words-are-chosen.html. Accessed 7 Mar. 2017.

Induction


I started class yesterday as I often do: I turned off the overhead lights to draw attention to the Promethean board, and I turned on the lamp up front for some house light.

But the lamp didn’t work. Not being particularly handy, I asked the class for advice. “Maybe it’s not plugged in.” “Maybe the bulb’s burned out.” “The lamp might be broken.” I found a plug in the socket, and when we exchanged bulbs with a working lamp, the front lamp still didn’t work. Faced with having to inspect the lamp itself, I checked the plug again. The plug in the socket belonged to the electric pencil sharpener. I plugged in the lamp, and there was light.

My class and I were engaged in the scientific method and the bright narrative of induction. Induction works in essay writing, too. I showed the class how a thesis that evolves as it accounts for more evidence is more interesting than a static thesis stated at an essay’s outset. Consider the outlines of two papers about our lamp issue:

The Evolving Thesis Version

  • Problem and initial thesis: The lamp isn’t working. It seems as if the lamp is unplugged or the bulb is burned out.
  • Evidence: I checked the plug, and it appears to be attached to the electrical outlet.
  • Amended thesis: The bulb must be burned out after all.
  • Evidence: I swapped the old bulb for one I know works, and the lamp still didn’t work.
  • Amended thesis: Is the lamp broken?
  • Evidence: I don’t fix lamps. I check the plug again to make sure. I was wrong earlier: the electric pencil sharpener is plugged in, but the lamp isn’t.
  • Amended thesis: The lamp isn’t working because it’s unplugged.

The Five-Paragraph Essay Version

  • Problem and thesis: The lamp isn’t working. It’s not plugged in.
  • Body paragraph(s): The lamp isn’t working. The lamp is electric. Electric lamps don’t work unless they’re plugged in. The lamp isn’t plugged in. When I plug it in, the lamp works.
  • Conclusion: Because it’s an electrical appliance and isn’t plugged in, the lamp isn’t working.

In their book Writing Analytically, David Rosenwasser and Jill Stephen call the five-paragraph essay “a meat grinder that can turn any content into sausage” (113). By putting a static thesis in its first paragraph, this high school essay format “reduces the remainder of the essay to redundancy” (114). The structure conceals the writer’s mind, which is the most interesting thing about essays from Montaigne forward. Peter Elbow makes the same point in contraposition: “the most common reason weak essays don’t hang together is that the writing is all statement, all consonance, all answer” (296).

My friend David Arbogast, an administrator and an English teacher with far more experience than I have, likes to say that all good writing contains a narrative element. People do like stories, but his point is that people like to step into the shoes of an inquiring mind at work. This need for engagement is why Thomas Newkirk finds the five paragraph essay to be a dead genre that many English teachers refuse to bury:

If participation in the mental activity of the writer compels us to read on, it is clear that the thesis-oriented paper may work against this participation because the form is so front-loaded. Readers are given too much, too early. (49)

An unvarying thesis at an essay’s outset with a straightjacket means of proving it trains an essay’s readers not to think. After all, the five-paragraph essay model implies that learning is dyadic, objective, and static. By contrast, an essay with an evolving thesis, like the inductive scientific method, is triadic. One can apply triadic semiotics to the scientific method: the sign is some strange phenomena or data, the interpretant is the scientist’s response (“Hm, that’s funny”), and the object or referent is a new theory that accounts for the new phenomena. On the other hand, to lead with the object, to support the object with the sign, and to eliminate the interpretant — three essential steps in the five-paragraph essay — make for dull writing and (worse) an unthinking generation of underdeveloped writers.

It hurts to write only if it hurts to think.

(I wrote a model essay with an expanded thesis for our current assignment, a comparison research paper. Here’s the link.)

°°°°

The celebration of a new Episcopal rector is broken into four parts: the institution, the liturgy of the Word, the induction, and the eucharist. During the induction, members of the congregation bring gifts and state what the gifts signify. (This is triadic, too. Consider this line from the Book of Common Prayer: “Bruce [the interpretant], use this oil [the sign], and be among us as a healer and a reconciler [the referent].” Imagine the oil and the concept of healing without a healer.)

(In fact, the Trinity is triadic: the Son’s the sign that points to the Father (the referent), and the Holy Spirit’s the interpretant.)

The prayer book prescribes some of the gifts (the oil, the Bible, the stole, for instance), but the presentations may be “adapted as appropriate to the nature of the new ministry.”

Rev. Bruce Cheney received several gifts not in the prayer book’s list, and the one that stood out to me was the work bucket, including a hammer, an air filter face mask, and some caulk. Bruce repairs buildings and, by God’s grace, men’s lives.

Bruce was installed a month ago at St. Paul’s in downtown Newport News. Here he is after the service with Victoria and Bethany.

Works Cited

The Book of Common Prayer and Administration of the Sacraments and Other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church: According Tho the Use of the Episcopal Church. Together with the Psalter or Psalms of David. Seabury Press, 1979.

Elbow, Peter. “The Shifting Relationship Between Speech and Writing.” College Composition and Communication, 35(3), October 1985, pp. 283 – 303.

Newkirk, Thomas. The School Essay Manifesto: Reclaiming the Essay for Students and Teachers. Shoreham, VT, Discover Writing Press, 2005.

Rosenwasser, David, and Jill Stephen. Writing Analytically. 2nd ed., Stamford, CT, Wadsworth Publishing, 1999.

On tyranny and pamphleteering

Walter Benjamin

When Charles I became increasingly autocratic, John Milton, the poet, became a pamphleteer. Timothy Snyder, the author and Yale history professor, just became one, too: he published On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century. The  New Yorker, at least, calls On Tyranny a pamphlet (Gopnik). It’s 128 pages, but the book’s dimensions are so small that I read it in an hour.

I thought blogging had replaced pamphleteering, but maybe pamphlets are coming back. Distributing tactile, three-dimensional pamphlets goes along with On Tyranny‘s Lesson 13, “Practice corporeal politics”:

Protest can be organized through social media, but nothing is real that does not end on the streets. If tyrants feel no consequences for their actions in the three-dimensional world, nothing will change.

And pamphlets are fast – fast to write, publish, and read. (Not always so fast to reprint or ship, though: my hard copy of On Tyranny is on backorder for up to two months. I read the book on my phone’s Kindle app.)

Thomas Paine followed in Milton’s footsteps, of course, writing the pamphlet Common Sense and the pamphlet series The American Crisis. Paine was as much action as he was words: he moved to America in time for our revolution and then moved to France in time for theirs. Like Paine himself, the pamphlet – as a genre as much as a means of publication – seems like a healthy mix of action and writing. Walter Benjamin, whose political ideas made him a Gestapo target, thought so, too:

Significant literary effectiveness can come into being only in a strict alternation between action and writing; it must nurture the inconspicuous forms that fit its influence in active communities better than does the pretentious, universal gesture of the book – in leaflets, brochures, articles, and placards. Only this prompt language shows itself actively equal to the moment.

I think Benjamin would have found Snyder’s twenty lessons “equal to the moment.” Snyder reduces some of the material I read in his 2015 book Black Earth: The Holocaust as History and Warning and, I suppose, his other writings to something like plainness – plain in the sense of direct, pithy, and relevant. One could read snatches of it to one’s friends in “the three-dimensional world.”

Snyder has taken some guff in the past for his subjectivity. The left-leaning magazine Jacobin complains that “his prose is white hot” (Lazare). Snyder joins “History” and “Warning” as if the past had something to teach us. But most pamphlets make little pretense at objectivity. The prospect of the president’s election, after all, caused over 350 political science professors at American colleges and universities to shed their objective mantle and sign a joint letter – about as long as a short pamphlet – warning the public about him. (The letter opens: “Political scientists seek to understand politics, not engage in politics. Yet . . .”)

I like what the German political scientist Eric Voegelin says about the impossibility of objectivity in his profession:

Whoever seeks to interpret, noetico-critically, the order of man, society, and history finds that at the time of his attempt the field is already otherwise occupied. For every society is constituted by the self-understanding of its order. (144)

Voegelin, another refugee from Nazi-occupied territory, made it his life’s mission to understand the last century’s political violence (3). I’m not really sure, though, if his predicate – “finds that at the time of his attempt the field is already otherwise occupied” – counsels subjectivity or haste.

In the case of the pamphlet, and to us in our present circumstances, probably both. Democracy and republicanism aren’t objective norms, and as Snyder writes in Lesson 2, democratic institutions don’t “automatically maintain themselves.”

Works Cited

Abramsom, Scott F., et al. “Political Scientists’ Statement of Concern about Donald Trump, Text and Signatures” Google Docs, 6 Nov. 2016, drive.google.com/file/d/0B7l0lh4nmE3OSkpCWjJJNGVoNXc/view. Accessed 11 Mar. 2017.

Benjamin, Walter. One-Way Street. Cambridge, MA, Belknap Press, 2016.

Gopnik, Adam. “The Words We Use About Donald Trump.” The New Yorker, Conde Nast, 10 Mar. 2017, www.newyorker.com/news/daily-comment/the-words-we-use-about-donald-trump. Accessed 11 Mar. 2017.

Lazare, Daniel. “Timothy Snyder’s Lies.” Jacobin, 9 Sept. 2014, www.jacobinmag.com/2014/09/timothy-snyders-lies/. Accessed 11 Mar. 2017.

Snyder, Timothy. On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century. New York, Tim Duggan Books, 2017.

Voegelin, Eric. Anamnesis. University of Missouri Press, 1990.

My reads in 2016

Books I read this past year, listed in chronological order:

Going to Meet the Man by James Baldwin

The Doodle Revolution: Unlock the Power to Think Differently by Sunni Brown

The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri

James Baldwin: A Biography by David Leeming

If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin

Neo-Impressionism and the Dream of Realities by Cornella Homburg

That Man Is You by Louis Evely

Tell Me How Long the Train’s Been Gone by James Baldwin

Master and Commander by Patrick O’Brian (4th read)

The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien (2nd read)

We Are All Brothers by Louis Evely

Post Captain by Patrick O’Brian (4th read)

HMS Surprise by Patrick O’Brian (4th read)

The Mauritius Command by Patrick O’Brian (4th read)

True to Life: Twenty-Five Years of Conversations with David Hockney by Lawrence Weschler

Hopper by Mark Strand

Desolation Island by Patrick O’Brian (4th read)

A Hero with a Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell

One-Way Street by Walter Benjamin (2 times)

Following Atticus by Tom Ryan

The Fortune of War by Patrick O’Brian (4th read)

The Surgeon’s Mate by Patrick O’Brian (4th read)

On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King

Just Above My Head by James Baldwin

Rousseau: The Dream, ed. by David Frankel

“Most Blessed of the Patriarchs”: Thomas Jefferson and the Empire of the Imagination by Annette Gordon-Reed and Peter Sionuf

Lie Down in Darkness by William Styron

Lit Up: One Reporter, Three Schools, Twenty-Four Books that Can Change Lives by David Denby

Tudors: The History of England from Henry VIII to Elizabeth I by Peter Ackroyd

1776 by David McCullough

Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander by Thomas Merton

The Rise of Totalitarianism by Hanna Arendt

The Conscience of the Constitution: The Declaration of Independence and the Right to Liberty by Timothy Sandefur

American Revolutions: A Continental History, 1750 – 1804 by Alan Taylor

The Pope and Mussolini: The Secret History of Pius XI and the Rise of Fascism in Europe by David L. Kertzer

Let Us Now Praise Famous Men by James Agee

At the Existentialist Café: Freedom, Being, and Apricot Cocktails with Jean-Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, Albert Camus, Martin Heidegger, Maurice Merleau-Ponty and Others by Sarah Bakewell

America first

These days I’m grading and grading. Some of my kids’ speeches are good. The school’s subscription databases, though, suddenly seem so dated. I’ll update a student controversy, one that mirrors an article from the likes of Issues and Controversies: “Should the United States provide direct support for pro-democracy movements in the United States?”

My seniors don’t know what to think. We were openly horrified this past spring, but now any discussion of it is effectively banned. The speeches’ chosen topics have coalesced around global warming, stress & mental illness, and the need for manned space travel. To this aging ear, the speeches sound of would you betray us? would you divide us? would you, after all, prevent us? This generation’s rendezvous with destiny may come as a hurried, hunted assignation.

Abortion and today’s vote

I am pro-life. I think the Constitution, as interpreted by the Declaration of Independence, recognizes, under most circumstances, a human fetus’s right to life.1 I don’t think any of the four party candidates for president on today’s ballot share my views, though one recently switched to a pro-life position.2

I respect people’s pro-choice stance. Most of them condemn most abortions but don’t think a government should make decisions affecting the mother’s body. Indeed, when I see “Choose Life” license plates, I wonder if the driver is a pro-life person acknowledging the mother’s right to choose or a pro-choice person begging that mothers consider alternatives to abortion. And I know parents – both pro-life and pro-choice parents – who are more noble than I: they have adopted unwanted children.

Many Evangelicals will vote for any major-party presidential candidate who claims to be pro-life. This year, then, many Evangelicals will vote for Donald Trump.3 Most of them have made their peace with a candidate whose lifestyle is hardly Christian and who recognizes no need for redemption. They have also made their peace with a candidate whom they recognize as being largely outside of the American conservative tradition. Many of these Evangelicals even agree with the conclusion, stated in a letter signed last week by hundreds of American political science professors, that Trump’s candidacy is “a grave threat to American democracy and to other democratic governments around the world.” These Evangelicals are willing to dismiss that threat because Trump claims to be pro-life.

How did we get to the place where many Evangelicals are willing to risk democracy itself in order to vote for someone who claims to be pro-life?

I’ll hazard an answer. We Evangelicals don’t know our political science. We persist in a form of Constitutional exegesis that we would, I trust, never apply to the Bible.

Most Evangelicals are strict constructionists, which is a far cry from favoring the Founders’ original intent. Strict constructionists look at what lawyers call “the four corners of the document” – in this case, the United States Constitution – without any guiding principles except principles resembling those of statutory construction. If strict constructionists don’t find the answer in the Constitution, they put it to a vote.

Robert Bork calls the operation of strict constructionism “majority morality.” Here’s how it works as it moves from Constitutional interpretation to the political sphere:

There is no way to decide these questions [that place moral positions at odds with one another] other than by reference to some system of moral or ethical principles about which people can and do disagree. Because we disagree, we put such issues to a vote and, where the Constitution does not speak, the majority morality prevails. (From Bork’s book The Tempting of America)

In our pluralistic society, Bork says, the controlling values are the majority’s. But is it really a majority’s prerogative to decide what’s right? Isn’t this the kind of nihilistic thinking conservatives often attribute to liberals?

Here’s conservative Edward J. Erler‘s response to Bork:

Indeed, Madison, like Jefferson, argued . . . that a majority may do only those things “that could be rightfully done by the unanimous concurrence of the members.” Thus it is not simply the will of the majority that “rightfully” rules in a democracy, but the rational will of the majority. In the same vein, Jefferson wrote that “[i]ndependence can be trusted nowhere but with the people in mass. They are inherently independent of all but moral law.” Thus, it is clear that Madison and Jefferson viewed the people as a moral entity, not simply as a collection of discrete value-positing individuals. The positivism of both Bork and Rehnquist is predicated on a kind of moral relativism that ultimately leads to nihilism. (Edward J. Erler, in his introduction to Harry V. Jaffa’s Storm Over the Constitution, p. xxix)

What, then, makes a strict constructionist a strict constructionist? At bottom, the denial of self-evident truth. Strict constructionists adhere to the letter of the Constitution even in situations when traditional Constitutional construction would lead jurists outside of the text. (John Marshall, for instance, sometimes would argue a Constitutional provision only to reinforce a finding he would make chiefly through natural law.)

Our literalism, however, often obscures or even excludes truth. We are often like the Pharisees, whom Jesus said “pay tithe of mint and anise and cummin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith” (Matt. 23:23).

What drives strict constructionists to overly fixate on the Constitution’s text? Partly the same literalism with which some Protestants approach the Bible in response to the Enlightenment. Partly their core belief that no one can divine the Constitution’s spirit or distinguish between its ideals and its political compromises. And partly their reaction to the progressives’ Living Constitution doctrine, the notion that the Constitution says what each generation of Americans says it says.

But strict constructionists never meet the Living Constitution adherents’ argument that we can’t know what the Framers meant. Instead, they reinforce the Living Constitution adherents’ argument through their over-insistence on the Constitution’s letter.

We can, though, usually know what the Framers meant. It’s no secret. While a lot of important, fundamental matters divided them — the nature of federalism and the extent of the franchise, for instance – a relatively new philosophy and an older heritage united them: Lockean liberalism and the broader notions of natural law and English common law. These three sources contain the legal equivalent of “justice, mercy, and faith.” Original intent, then, is an open mind informed by a vigorous legal and constitutional tradition. Beside it, Strict constructionism and the Living Constitution appear merely as simplistic rules of statutory and constitutional construction that, as Erler says, promote a “moral relativism that ultimately leads to nihilism.”

We church folks can get this. Long ago, I saw the wisdom of this Christian adage: if you have the Spirit without the Word, you blow up. If you have the Word without the Spirit, you slow up. If you have the Spirit and the Word, you grow up. Taken from biblical exegesis and applied to Constitutional exegesis, this adage in succession describes the Living Constitution, strict constructionism, and true original intent.

How does original intent apply to today’s abortion issue?

We might look at how Lincoln applied original intent to an earlier scourge, slavery. Abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison called the Constitution a pact with the devil and burned it in front of audiences. Lincoln admitted that the Constitution contained horrible compromises benefitting slavery, but he supported it nonetheless. Though Lincoln maintained his “personal wish that all men every where could be free,” he recognized that the Constitution protected the Declaration’s truths concerning equality, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness – the very seeds that he hoped would grow to destroy slavery.

Lincoln believed that the Declaration’s truths were protected by the Constitution’s mean compromises, and he described the relationship between the Declaration’s truths and the Constitution’s compromises in a biblical metaphor, quoting this passage from Proverbs: “A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.” For Lincoln, the Declaration’s truths are the apples and the Constitution is the picture:

The assertion of that principle [“liberty for all”], at that time, was the word, “fitly spoken” which has proved an “apple of gold” to us. The Union, and the Constitution, are the picture of silver, subsequently framed around it. The picture was made, not to conceal, or destroy the apple; but to adorn, and preserve it. The picture was made for the apple – not the apple for the picture.

One must preserve, protect, and defend the picture of silver – the Constitution – not for its own sake but for the golden apples’ sake. The abolitionists sought to keep the apples without the picture. Lincoln’s moderation would preserve both the apples and the picture long enough to amend the picture to become a fuller expression of the apples.

One can imagine a conversation between Lincoln and Garrison that would largely track a famous conversation in the 1960 movie A Man for All Seasons between Thomas More and his son-in-law, William Roper:

Roper: So now you’d give the devil benefit of law!

More: Yes. What would you do? Cut a great road through the law to get after the devil?

Roper: I’d cut down every law in England to do that!

More: Oh? And when the last law was down, and the devil turned round on you — where would you hide, Roper, the laws all being flat? This country’s planted thick with laws from coast to coast — man’s laws, not God’s — and if you cut them down — and you’re just the man to do it — d’you really think you could stand upright in the winds that would blow then? Yes, I’d give the devil benefit of law, for my own safety’s sake.

The antebellum South, of course, took an exegetical position opposing Garrison’s. It sought to keep the picture without the apples. That is, it wanted to enforce the letter of the Constitution in order to have fugitive slaves returned and to maintain their advantage in the House of Representatives. Unlike Lincoln (and Jefferson and Madison before him), however, the South didn’t believe that the Declaration’s truths should be used to interpret the Constitution and to thereby limit slavery’s expansion.

Steeped in strict constructionism, the South in its rebellion proved just as willing to destroy the Constitution – the picture of sliver – as Garrison had been. Indeed, strict construction’s literal, truth-starved exegesis always leads to nihilism and to the destruction of the document interpreted.

Our Constitution, at least as our highest court has interpreted it, supports a right to choose. That support is contrary to the truths contained in the Declaration of Independence. We have a situation precisely like the one Lincoln and Garrison sparred over.

We cannot participate in our Constitution’s destruction, either during today’s election or in the dangerous days that follow it, in order to end abortion. The Constitution protects the Declaration’s truths, and those truths protect a fetus’s right to life.

We cannot, in screenwriter Robert Bolt’s terms, “lay flat” our country’s Constitution in order to “get at the devil.” Congress should not shut down the government to defund Planned Parenthood, which receives no government funding for abortion, anyway. The Senate should not shirk its duty to consider President Obama’s or a President Clinton’s Supreme Court nominees. And the people should not rebel against the Union because of an election, as much of the South did in 1860 and 1861. And today we should consider voting for candidates who uphold rather than tear down our Constitutional institutions and traditions.

I am not offering a solution to the abortion issue.

I do suggest, though, that if we hack down our Federal government to go after abortionists, what will be left if we succeed? When the Constitution lies flat and the devil turns on us in the form of anarchy or autocracy – or of one then the other – where will we hide?

  1. Because it involves the right to life, I see abortion as a Federal issue and not, as it once was, a state issue.
  2. CharismaNews has cast doubt on Donald Trump’s pro-life stance. Conservative columnist George F. Will finds the idea that Trump would appoint conservative justices ludicrous, given his big-government stances. Two weeks ago, even John McCain said he wasn’t sure who would be better at appointing Supreme Court justices – Hillary Clinton or Trump.
  3. Many Evangelicals also support Trump because of his pro-Israel rhetoric, and they believe his rhetoric despite his penchant for retweeting information from anti-Semitic web sites, despite his campaign chief executive’s anti-Semitic web site, and – worst of all – despite his championing of the foreign policy of Russia, the country that has fought proxy wars against Israel since Israel’s founding.

Hanna Arendt’s The Origins of Totalitarianism (1951)

I’ve just finished reading an extraordinary book, The Origins of Totalitarianism, written in 1951. Its author, Hanna Arendt, was a political theorist and a Jew who was briefly imprisoned by the Nazis and, years later, placed in an internment camp by Vichy France. Arendt’s book offer insights into our own state of affairs. Here are some excerpts:

The older nations enjoyed constitutions which implicitly or explicitly (as in the case of France, the nation par excellence) were founded upon the Rights of Man, that even if there were other nationalities within their borders they needed no additional law for them, and that only in the newly established succession states was a temporary enforcement of human rights necessary as a compromise and exception. The arrival of the stateless people brought an end to this illusion.

***

One is almost tempted to measure the degree of totalitarian infection by the extent to which the concerned governments use their sovereign right of denationalization [i.e., the right to deport people] . . . . But one should bear in mind at the same time that there was hardly a country left on the Continent that did not pass between the two wars some new legislation which, even if it did not use this right extensively, was always phrased to allow for getting rid of a great number of its inhabitants at any opportune moment.

***

The chief qualification of a mass leader has become unending infallibility; he can never admit an error. The assumption of infallibility, moreover, is based not so much on superior intelligence as on the correct interpretation of the essentially reliable forces in history or nature, forces which neither defeat nor ruin can prove wrong because they are bound to assert themselves in the long run. . . . Before mass leaders seize the power to fit reality to their lies, their propaganda is marked by its extreme contempt for facts as such, for in their opinion fact depends entirely on the power of man who can fabricate it.

***

. . .since the middle thirties, one mysterious world conspiracy has followed another in Bolshevik propaganda. . . . The effectiveness of this kind of propaganda demonstrates one of the chief characteristics of modern masses. They do not believe in anything visible, in the reality of their own experience; they do not trust their eyes and ears but only their imaginations, which may be caught by anything that is at once universal and consistent in itself. What convinces masses are not facts, and not even invented facts, but only the consistency of the system of which they are presumably part. Repetition, somewhat overrated in importance because of the common belief in the masses’ inferior capacity to grasp and remember, is important only because it convinces them of consistency in time. . . . The revolt of the masses against “realism,” common sense, and all ‘the plausibilities of the world’ (Burke) was the result of their atomization, of their loss of social status along with which they lost the whole sector of communal relationships in whose framework common sense makes sense.

***

…they recruited their members from this mass of apparently indifferent people whom all other parties had given up as too apathetic or too stupid for their attention. The result was that the majority of their membership consisted of people who never before had appeared on the political scene. This permitted the introduction of entirely new methods into political propaganda, and indifference to the arguments of political opponents; these movements not only placed themselves outside and against the party system as a whole, they found a membership that had never been reached, never been ‘spoiled’ by the party system. Therefore they did not need to refute opposing arguments and consistently preferred methods which ended in death rather than persuasion, which spelled terror rather than conviction. They presented disagreements as invariably originating in deep natural, social, or psychological sources beyond the control of the individual and therefore beyond the power of reason. This would have been a shortcoming only if they had sincerely entered into competition with other parties; it was not if they were sure of dealing with people who had reason to be equally hostile to all parties.

***

With the assumption that foreign politics is necessarily outside of the human contract, engaged in the perpetual war of all against all, which is the law of the “state of nature,” Hobbes affords the best possible theoretical foundation for those naturalistic ideologies which hold nations to be tribes, separated from each other by nature, without any connection whatever, unconscious of the solidarity of mankind and having in common only the instinct for self-preservation which man shares with the animal world.

***

If it should prove to be true that we are imprisoned in Hobbes’s endless process of power accumulation, then the organization of the mob will inevitably take the form of transformation of nations into races, for there is, under the conditions of an accumulating society, no other unifying bond available between individuals who in the very process of power accumulation and expansion are losing all natural connections with their fellow-men. Racism may indeed carry out the doom of the Western world and, for that matter, of the whole of human civilization. When Russians have become Slavs, when Frenchmen have assumed the role of commanders of a force noire, when Englishmen have turned into “white men,” as already for a disastrous spell all Germans became Aryans, then this change will itself signify the end of Western man. For no matter what learned scientists may say, race is, politically speaking, not the beginning of humanity but its end, not the origin of peoples but their decay, not the natural birth of man but his unnatural death.

***

A conception of law which identifies what is right with the notion of what is good for— for the individual, or the family, or the people, or the largest number— becomes inevitable once the absolute and transcendent measurements of religion or the law of nature have lost their authority. And this predicament is by no means solved if the unit to which the “good for” applies is as large as mankind itself. For it is quite conceivable, and even within the realm of practical political possibilities, that one fine day a highly organized and mechanized humanity will conclude quite democratically— namely by majority decision— that for humanity as a whole it would be better to liquidate certain parts thereof. Here, in the problems of factual reality, we are confronted with one of the oldest perplexities of political philosophy, which could remain undetected only so long as a stable Christian theology provided the framework for all political and philosophical problems, but which long ago caused Plato to say: “Not man, but a god, must be the measure of all things.” (Emphasis added)

***

The final excerpt, of course, describes the dilemma Abraham Lincoln discovered in Stephen Douglas’s Popular Sovereignty doctrine expressed in the 1854 Kansas-Nebraska Act. This dilemma precipitated Lincoln’s return to politics and was a major subject of the 1858 Lincoln-Douglas debates. All of natural law is based on political equality, and political equality is based on the existence and reign of God. That’s a political restatement of the two greatest commandments, from which all the law and the prophets also hang.

The Declaration and Donald Trump

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Since the Civil War, American conservative and liberal national officeholders have been, in an important sense, all liberals. Conservatives and liberals both defend the Founders’ liberal ideology drawn from John Locke, Jean Jacques Burlamaqui, Montesquieu, and other Enlightenment philosophers. Conservatives and liberals, of course, emphasize different aspects of the Founders’ liberalism. Today’s conservatives, generally speaking, want to conserve liberalism’s emphasis on free-market capitalism, which hitched up with liberalism around the time of our nation’s founding, and on individual rights. Today’s liberals want to expand the reach of liberalism’s equality and its removal of barriers from social and economic opportunity.

Donald Trump represents a break from this implied agreement on the goal – that is, on Lockean liberalism – between America’s two major political parties and the modern conservativism and liberalism they have represented. Trump is more like a conservative in the eighteenth-century English sense of the word. He may be the first monarchical American presidential nominee.

The Indictment

One can find similarities between Trump’s illiberal positions and the actions that King George III and, by implication, his Parliament are accused of in that most liberal of American state papers, the Declaration of Independence. (Most of the Declaration amounts to a bill of particulars supporting its indictment of a monarchy, at least as monarchism was practiced by King George. The Declaration’s more famous and soaring rhetoric is chiefly in its preamble, of course, to which I will return.)

Here are a few of the Declaration of Independence’s particulars against Trump.

Trump’s incitements to violence against protesters at his rallies (e.g., “Knock the crap out of them”) and his traffic with white supremacists recall a particular: “He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us.” His bullying of Judge Gonzalo Curiel for what lawyers call “a civil advantage” by calling the judge “a hater” and “a Mexican” brings to mind the accusation that George “has made judges dependent on his will alone.”

His promise to loosen libel laws against the press for negative reporting against him is, of course, an attack on the First Amendment’s freedom of the press. To abridge the First Amendment to this extent is right up there with “taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our governments.” His justification for limiting the press’s freedom – “I’m not like other people” – is the justification monarchs have used for such actions for centuries.

Even his stands on particular issues seem extreme enough to warrant a particular from the Declaration’s indictment. His penchant for tearing up trade deals, according to most economists who have studied his proposals, will have the effect of “cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world.” His harsh immigration proposals, including the construction of a Mexican-funded wall along our Mexican border and his temporary ban of Muslim immigration, remind me of this item from the Declaration’s indictment: “He has endeavored to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws of naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migration hither . . .” And his refusal to rule out the tactical use of nuclear weapons as well as his refusal to support measures aimed at halting nuclear proliferation threaten the use of “Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.”

But, more than anything else, Trump’s overall disdain for democratic and republican forms of government, from his failure to master the basics of seventh-grade civics (e.g., his belief that judges sign bills into law) to his assertion of a kingly prerogative to contradict himself without accountability, to his lack of any proposed republican means of carrying out his promises – instead, he asks us repeatedly only that we trust him – makes him seem like an eighteenth-century British monarch. To give King George credit, he was a constitutional monarch on his side of the Atlantic, but if our Declaration is to be believed, he acted as an absolute monarch over here. It is this brand of conservativism – this cynical, Patriarchalist, and Hobbesian view of mankind’s need for an autocratic ruler at the potential cost of individual and collective liberty – that Trump espouses.

The Equality Clause

Trump faces indictment not only by the Declaration’s bill of particulars against King George. Trump stands indicted also – and more significantly – by the Declaration’s preamble, particularly by its most precious member, the Equality Clause: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”

Equality is the political term for the true self. As political philosopher Harry V. Jaffa has established, the Declaration’s expression of mankind’s essential equality presupposes a Judeo-Christian understanding of the separation and mutual respect among God, humanity, and the rest of nature. Or as Jesus put it:

But you must not be called “rabbi,” for you have one Rabbi, and you are all brothers. Do not call any man on earth “father,” for you have one Father, and he is in heaven. (Matthew 23:8 – 9, REB)

Because we have a common Father and Rabbi, we “are all brothers.” To say that we are equal, then, is to say that God is our Father. It is to say that we are children of God and that each of us is a child of God. It is the foundation for individual identity. Many, of course, express their essential selves in less religious terms or in different religious terms. No matter how it’s expressed, it signifies an individual yet universal identity that challenges sometimes-externally advanced identities based on ethnicity, religion, race, or social class.

By contrast, Trump offers us a tribal identity. He regularly re-tweets material from white supremacist sources. His campaign’s chief executive’s infamous web site denigrates both blacks and Jews qua blacks and Jews. He traffics in racial conspiracy theories, such as the false claim that President Obama is not a United States citizen. Trump gets many of his talking points from Russian strongman Vladimir Putin, who champions and quotes approvingly a formerly disgraced white fascist.

Trump’s actions are consistent with the words of the Confederacy’s chief philosopher, John Calhoun. Calhoun in a famous Senate speech stated that “there is not a word of truth in the whole proposition” that all men are created equal – the very proposition to which the Gettysburg Address claims that our nation was dedicated. Individuals have no rights, Calhoun believed; rights attach to individuals only as members of a race, and then only when that race earns those rights over the course of generations.

Lincoln and the Declaration on Trump

Taken alone, according to Lincoln, the particulars of the Declaration’s indictment, which take up over half of the Declaration’s words, would amount to a “merely revolutionary” document. The more important section is what Lincoln called the Declaration’s “abstract truth, applicable to all men and all times”; that is, the Declaration’s Equality Clause. According to Lincoln, it is the Equality Clause, even more than the particulars of the Declaration’s indictment, “that to-day, and in all coming days . . . shall be a rebuke and a stumbling-block to the very harbingers of re-appearing tyranny and oppression.”

Trump’s campaign is certainly a harbinger of reappearing tyranny. The entire Declaration of Independence rebukes it.

Why we Evangelicals nominated Trump

It may seem ironic that we Evangelicals, who profess everyone’s need for redemption, helped to nominate Donald Trump, who professes no such need. But we did: he swept the Bible Belt primaries, losing only Texas to favorite son Ted Cruz. According to NBC News exit polls, Mr. Trump won a combined forty percent of the Evangelical vote in the GOP primaries and caucuses as of May 10, shortly after he effectively wrapped up the nomination. Mr. Cruz by then had a combined thirty-four percent of the Evangelical vote, in second place in that regard. Mr. Trump’s share of the Evangelical primary vote, of course, rose thereafter.

I first felt my own need for redemption as a teen in Newport News’s Ferguson High School. One of my best friends there had suddenly gotten religion – a common experience during the Jesus Movement of the late nineteen-sixties and early seventies – and I walked the aisle at his church. My conversion felt powerful. Shy as I was, I often preached until crowds clogged the school’s halls, forcing our school’s administration to stop me.

I wanted everyone to see what I saw: each of us is made in God’s image and endowed with an invisible spirit – a means of connecting with something universal and eternal.

Slowly something happened to our movement. As a William and Mary law student in the late seventies and early eighties, I watched Pat Robertson’s 700 Club, the Portsmouth-based show I had enjoyed as a teen, begin to mix politics with its religious programming. Nationally, of course, American Evangelicalism was by then becoming associated with a conservative stance on a number of social issues, including abortion, homosexuality, and the expression of religion in public places.

Our culture-war emphasis came at a cost: we Evangelicals became less inclined to see the image of God in our political opponents. In other words, our focus on social issues made us lose touch with the core of our democracy – our political equality as God’s children – an understanding that our earlier spiritual renewal made particularly available to us.

Our nation was founded on Enlightenment philosopher John Locke’s notion of equality before God. As law and philosophy professor Jeremy Waldron observes, “Locke accorded basic equality the strongest grounding that a principle could have: it was an axiom of theology, understood as perhaps the most important truth about God’s way with the world in regard to the social and political implications of His creation of the human person.”

In Enlightenment terms, this “axiom of theology” is a “self-evident truth,” and the American Framers accorded the Declaration of Independence’s Equality Clause – “all men are created equal” – this foundational status.

Instead of discovering in the Declaration the core of our own faith, however, many of my fellow Evangelicals have reconstructed America’s Revolutionary past with a “Christian nation” narrative. This rather tribal outlook on our country’s origins tends to exclude other faiths and denies the universal truth at the heart of the American experiment in self-government.

The “Christian nation” narrative is also godless at its core. It suggests that our political rights spring from historical accident and not from our status as God’s children. G. K. Chesterton, the Christian apologist, in his book What’s Wrong with the World stood against a similar notion of the origin of English rights, quoting and then countering Edmund Burke:

“I know nothing of the rights of men,” [Burke] said, “but I know something of the rights of Englishmen.” There you have the essential atheist. His argument is that we have got some protection by natural accident and growth; and why should we profess to think beyond it, for all the world as if we were the images of God!

Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address claims that America was dedicated not to the Christian God, exactly, but to Chesterton’s proposition, a universally shared spark of divinity reflected in our essential – that is, our political – equality. America was “dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.” The proposition is attracting some harrowing answers of late, and the issue is again joined.

We Evangelicals were not wrong per se to mix religion and politics, but we have fought our culture wars as us-versus-them moral battles at the expense of the Equality Clause, which Lincoln rightly calls “the father of all moral principle among us.” This moral principle guided some past Evangelicals to support political movements that led to the abolition of slavery, to women’s suffrage, and to Civil Rights legislation.

Our own efforts at political action, however, have culminated in our support of Mr. Trump, an autocrat at heart who shows little inclination to see God’s image in Mexicans and Muslims, among others. After some political defeats, we Evangelicals see ourselves as weak and as a mere special interest; we seek Mr. Trump’s protection, and he has promised it to us.

We seem willing to give up on our nation’s 240-year-old experiment with equality in favor of a king. We fit a biblical precedent, that of ancient Israel, who rejected God by crying to the prophet Samuel to “give us a king!”

Unlike ancient Israel, of course, America isn’t a theocracy, but the spiritual core of the Equality Clause suggests an outlook on democracy based on a people’s status as children of God – government by “the people in mass . . . inherently independent of all but moral law,” as Jefferson puts it. In a real sense, we Evangelicals are rejecting the spiritual essence of our nation’s founding.

Instead of breaking through “the gates of hell,” as Jesus envisioned the church, we Evangelicals may pay dearly for arranging for our own protection.

Bibliography

1 Samuel 8 (KJV) (“Give us a king!” quote)

Chesterton, G. K. (Gilbert Keith) (2012-05-12). What’s Wrong with the World (Kindle Locations 2085-2086). Kindle Edition.

Erler, Edward J. “Harry Jaffa and Original Intent Jurisprudence.” Introduction. Storm over the Constitution. By Harry V. Jaffa. Lanham, MD: Lexington, 1999. Xvii-Xl. Print. (For Jefferson’s “moral law” quote, page xxix.)

Jaffa, Harry V. “What Were the ‘Original Intentions’ of the Framers of the Constitution of the United States?” University of Puget Sound Law Review 10 (1987): 351-448. Web. 22 July 2013. <http://digitalcommons.law.seattleu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1246&context=sulr>. (For Lincoln’s “the father of all moral principle among us” quote, page 417.)

Matthew 16:18 (KJV) (“Gates of hell” quote)

Mitchell, Travis. “Evangelicals Rally to Trump, Religious ‘Nones’ Back Clinton.” Pew Research Center’s Religion Public Life Project RSS. Pew Research Center, 13 July 2016. Web. 18 Sept. 2016.

Waldron, Jeremy. God, Locke, and Equality: Christian Foundations of John Locke’s Political Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2002. Print. (Page 6)

The James

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When home, I walk along a beach or seawall and sometimes think of a conch shell. I hear the Atlantic’s breakers in the James’s soft laps, and I know the river hears the same thing.

Faulkner’s father once offered him a cigar. A teen at the time, Faulkner thought about it, accepted it, broke it open, dumped its contents into his pipe, lit the pipe, and, puffing, thanked him. Faulkner never outgrew his delight at telling this story.

Note: this post appeared first on Instagram @peterstephens