Free Comrades. Anarchism and Homosexuality in the United States 1895-1917 by Terence Kissack.

Free Comrades is Terence Kissack’s well-documented history of pre-World War I, anarchist advocacy for lesbians and gays in the US. Until 1924, when the Society for Human Rights was formed in Chicago, there was no other organized effort to combat their oppression. There are some linguistic peculiarities to address: Kissack employs terms and concepts that were used by these early advocates. Archaic words like "homogenic," "invert" and "manly love," appear in place of "gay," "lesbian" and "bi-sexual.” Transgender Americans, a group not publicly conceptualized during the books focus period, are not covered. I’m sure that there are individuals within the LGBT community whom these exclusions and word usages will rub the wrong way. But putting the web of our current views and vernacular aside for a moment, most modern LGBT supporters are sophisticated enough to recognize that the movement in its infancy was not as advanced in as we are in the 21^st Century. The intent of pre-WWI activists can still be appreciated for what was, in the late 18^th Century, radically open-minded and supportive.

By 1895, Free-Love Anarchists, or Sex Radicals, had subdued the voices of prejudice within their own community enough to focus on public sphere activism in a significant way. Philosophically, anarchists opposed government interference in people’s private lives, and favored personal freedom. This made them natural allies to men and women facing state and individual oppression based on sexual difference from accepted norms. Anarchist support consisted mostly of lecturing, writing and networking with Sex Radicals in Europe. Unlike the US, Europe contained a number of sex-positive thinkers, reformers and organizations, that were not anarchist. There were no US efforts to reform “anti-sodomy” laws, since revolution was the anarchist answer to oppression.

Anarchist advocacy for lesbian/gay freedom, which they couched in terms of “the right to complete liberty of action,” became a major cause during and after the trial of Oscar Wilde. The playwright’s anarchist and socialist sympathies helped to garner support from the left.  But his conviction for private sexual activity which harmed no one, united anarchists and advocates of sexual freedom on both sides of the Atlantic. Regardless of how individuals may have felt about Wilde’s sexuality, this flagrant abuse of state power made lesbian/gay rights a permanent part of the “individual freedoms” discussion until government campaigns destroyed anarchist organizational infrastructure during the First World War.

Kissack’s chronology depicts a number of radicals and publications. Highlighted among the plethora of verbiage they produced are Emma Goldman’s enlightened speeches, Alexander Berkman’s Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist, and lesbian/gay-positive periodicals like the eponymous “Free Comrades.” Anarchist writers, most notably Leonard Abbott, J.W. Lloyd and Benjamin Tucker, kept the national conversation going. After the post-WWI government-led purges, a quieter, more community-building attitude settled-in among both anarchist and LGBT circles.

A significant flaw of Free Comrades is its failure to address anarchist violence during the same period that lesbian/gay advocacy was occurring. Defenders might argue that this book concerns Free Love Anarchists addressing the private sphere; not public sphere anarchists responding to state repression. But one of Kissack’s main points is that the State was punishing private, harmless behavior, which was a public sphere issue that drew-in anti-State anarchists. One might argue that this is a book about anarchist ideas, not actions. But the author himself repeatedly mentions various acts of violence without qualifications. Among the more salient acts of violence mentioned are Berkman’s attempted assassination of Henry Clay Fricke (Kissack, p. 101), the Preparedness Day Bombing for which Tom Mooney was framed (Kissack, p. 69), and the post-WWI “wave of bombings including a spectacular explosion on Wall Street [which] seemed to usher in a radical assault” (Kissack, p. 155). One could say that apologetics are not the purpose of this book. However, when anarchist J.W. Lloyd uses the word “savage” to describe Native Americans, the author is quick to note that “’savage’ has a jarring quality for contemporary readers” but “Lloyd used it in an ironic sense” (Kissack, p. 64). The author will even condemn socially conservative anarchists, as he does with Johann Most when he rightfully characterizes him as a misogynist (Kissack, p. 26). No such speedy prowess is forthcoming from Kissack’s pen regarding anarchist violence. Perhaps brutality is too indefensible for modern anarchists. But violence in Anarchist History is as difficult to avoid as ice in the Arctic Circle. At some point we need to discuss the melting glacier in the room. As much as I love Emma Goldman’s uncontained spirit, inspiring speeches and pro-liberation sexual politics, one cannot fully understand her without considering her verbose defenses of political assassinations. Inexplicably, Kissack avoids the conversation. I empathize with the notion that there was a war perpetrated by the wealthy against the poor. The legal assassination of Joe Hill, the use of Pinkerton Detectives as brutal strike-breakers, the attempts to criminalize unions, all illustrate efforts by the powerful to subjugate workers. However, responding with violence only caused suffering, created fear, expanded the class war, gave negative press to the movement and compounded the ethical wrongs. This view is shared by the current Anarcho-Pacifist wing of the movement who see violence as clouding their message.

The concluding chapter of Free Comrades opens with a late 1960s college course entitled “Contemporary Ideologies.” As a demonstration of anarchism’s improved status at that time, Kissack presents a class vote where 90 of the 160 students define themselves as anarchists (Kissack, p. 181). This is undeniably a better opinion of anarchism than a post-WWI classroom would have voiced. But how many of the 90 saw themselves as anarchists a decade after graduation? In my Hampshire College “State and Society” class of 1980, anarchist professor Lester Mazor stated that ten years from “now” most of the students present would have mainstream jobs, privileged lives and little or no dedication to social change. So how much was this 1960s wave of anarchism a fashion? Ask the baby boomers today how many of them are still anarchists.

The rest of the conclusion is fairly spot-on. Focusing on the legacy of pre-WWI anarchists, Kissack states that LGBT historians credit these early advocates for their work. But these accounts appear in books dedicated to an independent LGBT movement. The author makes this separation between movements and ideologies even more clear: “With few exceptions, today’s gay and lesbian activists seek inclusion within the boundaries of American culture, rather than the fundamental restructuring of that culture. They may find inspiration in the spirit of freedom expressed by the anarchists, but they are not revolutionaries” (Kissack, p. 186).

Nonetheless, anarchist's brave contribution to the freedom of today’s LGBT community deserves praise. In his summation of their efforts, Kissack is entirely right and deserves the last word of this review:

“They were nearly alone in their defense of people’s right to express their erotic feelings…When Oscar Wilde was thrown in prison…the anarchists rose to his defense, while others cheered his fall…Almost alone among their contemporaries, the anarchist sex radicals addressed the issue of homosexuality within the context of their larger political goals…the work of the anarchist sex radicals was unique and valuable. It is time we acknowledge and honor their accomplishments” (Kissack, p. 188).

Kissack, Terence. Free Comrades: Anarchism and Homosexuality in the United States, 1895-1917. Oakland: AK Press, 2008.

For review of a book on gay male culture in New York from 1890 to 1940, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2014/12/gay-new-york-gender-urban-culture-and.html

For review of another politically radical history, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2013/02/a-peoples-history-of-london-by-german.html

For a discussion encompassing "Marxist History vs Marxist Politics," see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2013/06/commentary-marxist-history-vs-marxist.html

The Confessions of Saint Augustine. The Influence of Self-Loathing.

Augustine of Hippo lived during a time of exceptional upheaval. It was the beginning of the Dark Ages, when the christianized Roman Empire was crumbling. His Confessions was written between 397 and 398 AD, 13 years prior to the sack of the capitol by the Visigoths. Perhaps this historical situation is responsible for the fervid tone of his philosophy, although truthfully, there are zealots in every age.

Among rational, educated people, it is easy to explain this early Christian philosopher as a relic of a darkly superstitious and insecure time. We can understand his cultural influences, and accept his limitations with the same charity that we understand Aristotle’s theory of Spontaneous Generation. But unlike Spontaneous Generation, Augustine’s ideas are taken seriously today. Many theologians see him as the seminal Christian Philosopher.  Many Catholic and non-Catholic lay people rapturize his quotes. The Dictionary of Scientific Biography includes him in what can be magnanimously described as an attempt to be open-minded. My copy of The Confessions gushes from its cover that this is “The greatest spiritual autobiography of all time.”

Unfortunately, Augustine comes with the emotional baggage of a damaged girlfriend who cuts. He is full of loathing and abuse towards himself. He calls himself “dust and ashes” (Augustine, p. 46). He says things like “I stank in [God’s] eyes” (Augustine, p. 65). With Flagellant masochism, Augustine describes his sin as if he is “bound about with painful chains of iron…scourged by burning rods of jealousy” (Augustine, p. 77). In response to the natural desires of adolescence, he says “clouds arose from the slimy desires of the flesh” (Augustine, p. 65).  The saint’s descriptions are so graphic, sensual and laced with bondage and discipline, that he makes a fetish of his self-hatred and writhes in an ecstasy of suffering and self-punishment for his humanness.

And what is his solution to the aforementioned sinfulness? More self-torture: God “scourged me with heavy punishments, but nothing in proportion to my faults” (Augustine, p. 80). God “stood me face to face with myself, so that I might see how foul I was, how deformed and defiled, how covered with stains and sores” (Augustine, p. 193). Apparently Augustine’s particular kink requires verbal abuse while he’s being whipped.

Even after a decade in God’s Pleasure Dungeon, and numerous renunciations that would make the most fanatic Ascetic weep, Augustine is still not good enough. He has tossed the woman (and child she bore him) out of his house and become celibate. He has given-up lucrative academic posts to pursue his warped truth. He lives with the scrubbed cleanliness of laundry beaten on rocks. But he needs a final push towards holiness. So what is his method? More self-torture:  “I upbraided myself much more bitterly than ever before. I twisted and turned in my chain” (Augustine, p. 199). God, ever the obliging dominatrix, “redoubled the scourges of fear and shame” (Augustine, p. 200). With this increased, punishing stimulation, Augustine is finally urged to let go in a climax of unity with the Divine.

I wish I could say that Augustine learned to love himself once he’d reached his goal. But this abused child of God was never good enough. He continues his celibacy and avoids physical pleasure. He even goes as far as avoiding pleasing fragrances and shutting-out pleasant melodies in church music (Augustine, p. 261). All senses are potential traps that can haul one back into sin. Concerning the sense of taste, he says “I…come to take food just as I take medicine” (Augustine, p. 258). For the rest of his life, Augustine is vigilant against the joys of the physical world.

It may interest free-thinking people to know what kinds of things are considered sins by this revered figure. In addition to the expected Seven Deadlies and violations of the Ten Commandments, Augustine includes Theater. Contact with The Stage, in Augustine’s colorfully graphic style, results in being “infected with loathsome sores” (Augustine, p. 78). Someone should have told him that the sores only occur if you have sex with the actors. As usual, knowledge is a bad thing, leading to the unfortunate consequences of thinking and questioning for one’s self (always a sin in the face of an authority that benefits from ignorance.) Knowledge leads away from God, “into the depths of apostasy and into the deceitful service of demons” (Augustine, p. 80). Free Will naturally follows: “the free will’s decision is the cause of our doing evil” (Augustine, p. 160). Anything to maintain a flock of sheep.

Paramount among sins is the sin of being human. “See how we wallow in flesh and blood” (Augustine, p. 195). It’s the tired, “spirit good; body bad” duality. Tired but ever profitable for religion. When it comes to creating converts, there is nothing quite as effective as telling people that what comes naturally to them, simply by being who they are is sinful; and that the only way to salvation is through the proffered organization.

Perhaps the most dangerous sin is that of heresy. Dangerous to the health of the heretic of course. In his discussion of the Manichean sect, Augustine states “They themselves are truly evil” (Augustine, p. 197). In another passage about them, he says that they “deserved to be spewed forth by a sickened stomach” (Augustine, p. 159). These are comments the saint makes about a sect that he was a part of for nine years. But he has no compassion for them. Dehumanizing the opposition is an excellent way to permit their persecution and destruction. If they’re characterized as vomit, or evil, killing them is okay. This is the foundation of what is called “The Augustinian Consensus,” a euphemism and philosophical justification for persecution. Augustine’s self-hatred regarding his own sin spilled-over onto humanity. It resulted in a millennium of violent persecutions against any individual or group perceived as unrepentant sinners.

This is the true danger of Augustine’s self-loathing. If it was just a case of this narrow, anti-motivational speaker influencing some horrible, small-minded people to hate their humanness as much as he hated his, I’d say that they were getting their just desserts. Unfortunately, these guilty-feeling busybodies never keep it to themselves. You’ll see them invade funerals for AIDS patients so that they can jeer at the bereaved family, or in the courtroom interfering with the private right of a couple to make end-of-life decisions, or in public schools trying to prevent condom distribution. And this is actually progress from the days when they would kill you for your transgressions (unless you’re an abortion provider, and then it’s game on…Dark Ages-style.) I’m not a psych clinician, but I can see the road that this self-hatred and self-denial leads down. And the dead end to that road is not a healthy place for either that individual or our society.

Augustine. The Confessions of St Augustine. Ryan, John K. (trans.) New York: Doubleday, 1960.

Bohemian Paris by Dan Franck. Cynthia Hope Liebow, translator.

Bohemian Paris is a lively portrait of the arts social scene between Montmartre and Montparnasse, from the late 1890’s to the 1930’s. Its chapters are predominately short biographical sketches of the personalities who lived in Paris. Their stories are laced with personal, sentimental and often lurid details of each subject’s life. Artists weave in and out of each other’s biographies, giving a sense of community and atmosphere to the book.

The writing is quite good. Dan Franck has an excellent translator in Cynthia Hope Liebow, who is able to maintain the author’s images with the smooth, informal style of an experienced storyteller. And a story it is, told in a narrative form by an author who has written some fiction. Those seeking hard, empirical historiography will be disappointed.

Sometimes factual reality suffers for the sake of story: “While Kiki and Man Ray were drifting off to sleep on the first page of their love story, a girl of about twenty was pushing open the door of her apartment on the rue Cardinet” (Franck, p. 332). This is a clumsy segue, not a chronological fact. The author also employs conflation as if it were a noble device, when describing a scene: We know that, when Picasso was told that his portrait of Gertrude Stein did not look like her, he responded “she will end up looking like it.” We know that Stein said of Madame Picasso “All she can talk about are three things: hats, perfume and furs.” We know that Braque was upset that his paintings were being blackened near Stein’s hearth. These are old chestnuts. But we can be relatively certain that they did not occur at the same party as expressed in the chapter “An Afternoon on the Rue de Fleurus.” Finally, there is a good deal of hyperbole: Derain “Knew everything there was to know about the literature of his time” (Franck, p. 66). “When [Picasso] was fourteen, his father deposited his own paints and brushes at his son’s feet, giving up an art in which the youngster had already surpassed him” (Picasso’s father was both a professional artist and art professor who did not give up his career at the age of 57)  (Franck, p. 16).

Because of this elevation of story above history, one begins to question some of the book’s claims. I found myself hitting the internet to investigate some of the more dramatic assertions. I was pleased to find that there were no deliberate falsifications. The reader will be amazed at the number of sordid details Franck was able to catalog.

There are undoubtedly times when the serious art lover or historian will be frustrated by the quantity of gossip and the obsession with subjects’ eccentricities. Additionally, there are segments that are tasteless. The author feels it necessary to mention more than once that Kiki of Montparnasse did not wear undergarments. The suicide of Jules Pascin is gratuitously described. Serious study is not a phrase that accurately describes this book.

One consistent problem with Bohemian Paris is that there is so little about the art itself. In a social history of art, one would expect to read more about how the artists influenced each other, what they discussed in terms of theory or technique, etc. Certainly there is some of this, but the author is more concerned with what drugs or lovers these people shared than what influences they shared. More time is spent describing how individuals dressed, rather than how they thought about their work.

To his credit, Franck covers some lesser-known figures of early 20^th Century Paris. Some are artists whose biographies are hard to find. More importantly, Franck includes the women of Paris. So few women were accepted in the artistic domain, that it is refreshing to discover their lives and ambitions. Unfortunately, (except for Gertrude Stein) the women are only important in terms of the men with whom they’re sleeping. Even Marie Laurencin, an artist in her own right who sold more paintings than many of the men, is discussed mainly as an appendage of Guillaume Apollinaire.

There is some value, beyond entertainment value, in the dishy social approach Franck chooses. This book is helpful to someone who already knows a good deal about Modern Art history, because it provides so much more information about personal lives and relationships than a traditional text. As a record of friendships, rivalries and social interactions, Bohemian Paris can help connect some dots in terms of social and environmental influence. One can even benefit from the sordid details: Knowing the eccentricities, problems, addictions and obstacles faced by the artist, does lend perspective to his or her work. There is little value in other books’ attempts to depict the artists of this (or any) period as flawless paragons of their profession. Few histories of this culture contain so many personal and environmental details recorded in one place. I would suggest that those new to Art History read a text first; then use this book to make connections and flesh-out the environment in which the creativity of Modern Art occurred. My personal recommendation on the subject of Modern Art is The Shock of the New by Robert Hughes, but that is a subject for a future review.

Franck, Dan & Liebow, Cynthia Hope (translator). Bohemian Paris. New York: Grove Press, 2001.

For review of a book that contains a comprehensive discussion of this time and place in art, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2013/05/jansons-history-of-art-by-hw-janson.html

For review of a general history on France during this time period, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2013/09/france-in-modern-times-by-gordon-wright.html

For a discussion of cubism, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2013/07/cubism-synthesis-of-robert-hughes-eh.html

Non-Overlapping Magisteria and the Quandary of Public vs Private Thoughts.

Non-Overlapping Magisteria (or NOMA) is a concept propounded by Professor Stephen Jay Gould who was best known as an evolutionary biologist and science historian. In his Leonardo’s Mountain of Clams and the Diet of Worms, Gould claimed that “the net of science covers the empirical realm: what the universe is made of (fact) and why does it work this way (theory). The net of religion extends over questions of moral meaning and value. These two magisteria [or teaching authorities] do not overlap” (Gould, p. 274). Professor Gould expresses this idea as a hopeful “resolution of the supposed ‘conflict’ or ‘warfare’ between science and religion” (Gould, p. 274).

Unfortunately Gould ignores that religion, from its very beginnings, was an explanation by superstitious people of “what the universe is made of and why does it work this way.” Our Judeo-Christian belief systems, for example, posit the existence of a monotheistic god, that this god created the Universe, that he created all organic life including humankind and that he infused Homo Sapiens with souls. While rational people may accept that science has pushed religion back from the empirical realm, this does not mean that religion has surrendered the field. The above beliefs are still advanced by Judeo-Christian believers. One may also take exception to the notion that religion addresses moral meaning and value, given the current and historical behavior of dominant religions worldwide, but I wish to maintain the focus of this response on the alleged separation of the realms themselves. Religion has always crossed the boundary between its purported domain and that of science. And if religion continues to invade the scientific realm with irrational positions on the physical world, science will continue to refute religious propositions.

There are people who are rational in most of their lives. They use empirical evidence when purchasing a car, or deciding what to wear when the weather changes. But many of those otherwise empirically-based individuals create within themselves Non-Overlapping Magisteria. Using the mental tools of denial, rationalization and compartmentalization, people are capable of holding any number of conflicting ideas. Many maintain illogical religious beliefs because these beliefs are comforting. As a nurse, I have met many a dying patient. Some of them believed in God and Heaven. There is not a hospital situation in which I would attempt to disillusion any of them of a belief in an afterlife. That would simply be cruel. Additionally, their belief is privately held and affects me not at all. I am a firm advocate of the view that people have a right to their private thoughts, regardless of whether those thoughts are superstitions or rational ideas.

People also have a right to express their ideas or beliefs publicly. But once those thoughts enter the public sphere, they are open to public comment. At that point, the author of the stated idea doesn’t get to say “these are my personal beliefs/ideas; you have no right to challenge them.” One has the right to express their personal views publicly, and the public has a right to agree or disagree. Stephen Jay Gould had personal motives as a self-described “agnostic” (Gould, p. 270), and as a scientist. He wanted peace between the two systems he held dear. Like many religious/spiritual people in denial, he overlooked that his NOMA theory was flawed, which allowed his spiritual/religious fantasy bubble to remain unpopped. He died on May 20, 2002. Had I been his nurse, I would have encouraged the comfort he obtained from his beliefs. It is in this more public forum that I examine NOMA and find it wanting.

Gould, Stephen Jay. Leonardo’s Mountain of Clams and the Diet of Worms. New York: Harmony Books, 1998.

A Distant Mirror: The Calamitous 14th Century by Barbara Tuchman.

A Distant Mirror is Barbara Tuchman’s detailed study of the Fourteenth Century. It ostensibly follows the life of one Enguerrand de Coucy VII, one of the less detestable nobles of the French court, who was frequently employed by the crown on both martial and diplomatic missions. But his life is merely an anchor for the book, which might otherwise drift among the many topics of the time. In truth, the Fourteenth Century itself, more specifically Fourteenth Century France, is the real focus. This period was one of exceptional upheaval, where cultural illusions were being destroyed.

The Hundred Years War had just begun, bringing with it unrelenting suffering and ruin. Over the period of its prosecution, this conflict ended the idea of Europe as a unified culture; a concept initiated during the period of Europe-wide resistance to Islamic incursions of earlier centuries. In its place was left the first stirrings of national identity.

The Schism in the Church, presenting one pope in Avignon and one pope in Rome, revealed to the public that this institution was little more than a context where the seemingly un-Christian motives of power and greed smothered the humble message of Jesus. The existence of two contradictory authorities in a once unified Church, alongside the apparent disagreement between words and deeds, allowed room for questioning of clerical authority and the insinuation of new ideas (most notably those of John Wyclif).

Equally important during this time was the unmasking of Chivalry, once thought of as a code of honor. Knights and nobles, who were supposed to uphold the values of humility and protection of the weak, were openly contradicting those precepts through their behavior. By taxing the poor to flaunt personal luxury, by carrying on various wars where vainglory and pillage appeared the goals and by assembling companies of brigands who robbed the countryside, the aristocracy was revealing to everyone that Chivalric words were simply a cover for selfish pursuits.

The last of the four factors in this disillusioning band of War, Schism and Chivalry was Plague. Periodic recurrences of the Black Death during this century exacerbated fear and chaos, causing the further breakdown of society. People of the time saw, and were encouraged to see, the Plague as retribution from an angry god for sinful living.

Peasants, artisans and merchants, disgusted by the greed of the religious and temporal authorities to whom they had once uncritically submitted, initiated several violent rebellions. Though the outcome was always defeat, periodic revolts were a fixture in the 14^th Century landscape.

A Distant Mirror is not an easy read. The difficulty is as much a problem of the often depressing topic as it is a problem of the author’s writing style. Tuchman has a passion (some might say obsession) for detail. Whether sorting the various parties and motivations in a political situation, or describing the extravagances of a wedding, Tuchman maintains an academic’s dedication to presenting as much of the chronicle as possible. Every jewel-encrusted comb is given a verbal endoscopy. While this unrelentingly thorough approach helps to preserve a history, it does not make for light reading. But it does make for rewarding reading. One will arrive, in the end, immensely well-informed about many of the personalities, cultures and issues, in 14^th Century Europe.

Tuchman, Barbara W. A Distant Mirror. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1978.

For a review on a history of the Bubonic Plague in the 14th Century, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2013/02/in-wake-of-plague-by-norman-f-cantor.html

For a review on the life of 14th Century mercenary knight John Hawkwood, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2014/08/the-devils-broker-by-frances-stonor.html

The Story of Art by E.H. Gombrich.

E.H.  Gombrich intended for The Story of Art to be a “first orientation” for newcomers to the subject. (Gombrich, p.7). No doubt, it is just that. But for those seeking a refresher on the chronological history of art, and those wishing to fill-in some gaps in their education, it is also quite valuable. I used it in preparation for my first trip to the Louvre and found that this intelligent observer had taught me much, even though I’d been an art enthusiast for decades. The book is written with teens in mind. But the author states “I never believed that books for young people should differ from books for adults.” (Gombrich, p.7).

Gombrich does not talk down to his reader. Neither does he encourage arrogance and pretension. He even goes so far as to explain how a new student of art might avoid the pitfalls of early learning and hubris that prevent one from enjoying art:

“People who have acquired some knowledge of art history…sometimes…when they see a work of art they do not stay to look at it, but rather search their memory for the appropriate label. They may have heard that Rembrandt was famous for his chiaroscuro…so they nod wisely when they see a Rembrandt, mumble ‘wonderful chiaroscuro’, and wander on to the next picture. [This is] half-knowledge and snobbery…we are all apt to succumb to such temptations, and a book like this could increase them. I should like to help open eyes, no loosen tongues…to look at a picture with fresh eyes and to venture on a voyage of discovery into it is a…more rewarding task.” (Gombrich, p. 37).

This teacher’s slant on the development of art over the centuries is not exceptionally original, but it is important. “Each generation is at some point in revolt against the standards of its fathers.” (Gombrich, p. 8). While explaining this motivation for change, Gombrich is emphatic in pointing-out that development does not mean improvement; just change. No one period is superior to another based upon it coming later.

Additionally, the author effectively tackles the issue of beauty in art. He asserts that a “bias for the pretty and engaging subject is apt to become a stumbling-block if it leads us to reject works which represent a less appealing subject.” (Gombrich, p. 15). As an example, he presents Durer’s portrait of his mother and states “His truthful study of careworn old age may give us a shock which makes us turn away from it – and yet, if we fight against our first repugnance we may be richly rewarded, for Durer’s drawing in its tremendous sincerity is a great work.” (Gombrich, p. 17).

Occasionally, Gombrich can overstate his cause. In his enthusiasm for Rembrandt, the professor claimed that the artist “must have been able to look straight into the human heart.” (Gombrich, p. 423). But if too much passion for one’s subject is a sin, most of us are willing to be forgiving.

Some of the flaws in The Story of Art are unavoidable. One cannot fully present the history of art in one volume of less than 650 pages of body. But to introduce this subject in a longer format would be overwhelming. So, Gombrich sets intelligent boundaries and does not indulge in presenting his favorite artists if they do not represent an important change.

In the event that I have just frightened those seeking an introductory book, with the mention of 650 pages, be aware that about half of this offering is taken-up with paintings, photos and drawings. The professor has made sure to provide ample illustration of the periods he discusses. Each topic within the book is accompanied by at least one example.

While Gombrich does his best to avoid technical language, his writing remains elegant and insightful. During instruction about Dutch still-life painting, he explains “just as there is great music without words, so there is great painting without important subject matter. It was this invention towards which the seventeenth-century artists had been groping when they discovered the sheer beauty of the visible world.” (Gombrich, p. 430). These abilities, fluid expression and command of the subject, make The Story of Art a pleasure to read and a superb guide.

Gombrich, E.H. The Story of Art. London: Phaidon Press Limited, 1995.

For a review of another art history option, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2013/05/jansons-history-of-art-by-hw-janson.html

France in Modern Times by Gordon Wright.

Gordon Wright’s cogently written France in Modern Times is a historical survey text from 1750 to the present. The author’s approach to teaching France’s modern history is admirably dispassionate. Wright presents a time or topic as simply as possible, then proceeds to offer the reader a number of conflicting interpretations from modern historians. This way, a reader may see the subject from more than one perspective. The professor will then present his own humble, one might even say timid, opinion on which current he supports.  Wright is rarely forceful or too insistent in the process. Because so many books have been written on each period discussed by Wright, and because there are such a variety of opinions on each period, the Professor ends each major section with a full chapter of related books with descriptions of their content. This open-minded, open-ended structure is one of the chief strengths of the book, along with the author’s broad and deep grasp of modern France.

There are two puzzling areas where Wright was unable to maintain the veneer of dispassion. First is his approach to increasing secularism in society, and second his views on what has been called the Revolution of 1848. Regarding his perspective on secularization and anti-clericalism, Wright begins in the Enlightenment. This normally fair-minded author uses the phrase “lunatic fringe” to describe Baron d’Holbach’s atheist views; hardly a politic choice of words (Wright, p. 26). He ignores that d’Holbach facilitated what is arguably the most important salon of the period. Wright’s opinion is not countered by the usual presentation of an opposing analysis. (For a differing view on the importance of atheism during this period, read Philipp Blom’s A Wicked Company. The Forgotten Radicalism of the European Enlightenment.) Wright continues with his Philosophe-bashing, by talking about the internalized “persecution mania” of these intellectuals, without discussing that they did suffer actual persecution in the form of censorship and jail (Wright, p. 29).

The professor’s prejudice against secularism continues with his characterization of the 1791 Church Settlement reforms, (a set of laws passed by the National Assembly to strip the Catholic Church of its special privileges) as “ill-conceived” and “the worst example” of reform measures because “it brought down the Pope’s anathema upon the revolutionary leaders and turned most of the clergy into stubborn opponents of the new system” (Wright, p. 48). Again, there is no contrary opinion from this proponent of presenting both sides. A countervailing evaluation how the separation of church and state might be a form of progress, and that a self-interested Church would naturally oppose such action, would have been apt here.

As France continues to remove the Church from public institutions, Wright continues to complain. The Professor appears bewildered by the 1870s attempts to further limit clerical influence on education and government. Regarding the country’s political leadership, he asks “why did it overact in the religious sphere? What produced its excessive, almost neurotic emphasis on the clerical problem” (Wright, p. 242)? For a second time, Wright employs the unfortunate phrase “lunatic fringe.” This time he is describing “Freethinkers associations” whose views were anything but lunatic or fringe, given that their ideas were the politically successful opinions of the majority (Wright, p. 243). It’s as if the professor did not himself live in a society that valued separate spheres for religion and public institutions.

Regarding the second puzzling area in Wright’s narrative, his perspective on the Revolution of 1848, the professor begins his analysis by calling it “a result far out of proportion to the cause” (Wright, p. 128). He explains this statement by claiming that “Frenchmen were not being oppressed or tyrannized (Wright, p. 128).” But the rest of the chapter about 1848 offers evidence to refute his initial statement. Wright discusses the “long-endured misery” of the working class and censorship in the form of opposition leadership “denied the right to hold public political meetings” (Wright, p. 130). In spite of this curious self-contradiction, the author writes a superb encapsulation of 1848 according to Marxist historians. While he did not share their political goals, Gordon Wright was open-minded enough to admit that “some aspects of Karl Marx’s original analysis and of the modernized Marxist version are undoubtedly sound” (Wright, p. 135).

This openness to differing ideas, and an ability to effectively present them, is more typical of Wright than are his views on the secularization of French society. Throughout his career, Wright rarely permitted his examination to fossilize. He was continually incorporating new perspectives. As historiography diversified to include People’s History, and Women’s History, so did France in Modern Times with each new edition. Since Wright himself was always learning and evolving, those who read this history will obtain a generally wide and balanced view.

Wright, Gordon. France in Modern Times. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1981.