W.H. Auden’s long journey

Articles entitled “The Secret X,” are usually exposés of X’s secret crimes and shames. But Edward Mendelson’s article “The Secret Auden” (New York Review, March 20) catalogs the many discreet acts of kindness, sensitivity, and self-sacrifice of W.H Auden. Auden sounds like one of the nicest famous people who ever lived–sleeping outside the door of an old woman’s apartment to help her with night terrors, befriending awkward teenagers at literary parties, helping convicts with their poetry.

What does this have to do with the man’s writing? Auden went on a long inward moral journey. After his early celebrity as a left-wing poet, he was suspicious of his own motives and the causes they had attached him to. His relentless self-criticism was not barren, self-destructive, or cynical; it gave him material for his best writing.

Mendelson offers an example. Isaiah Berlin was “Auden’s lifelong friend,” and on the surface it would appear that the two men held similar views: resistant to ideology and tolerant of  human beings in all their crooked particularity. In his essay on Turgenev, Berlin wrote: “The dilemma of morally sensitive, honest, and intellectually responsible men at a time of acute polarization of opinion has, since [Turgenev’s] time, grown acute and world-wide.” Mendelson summarizes Auden’s response:

Whatever Berlin intended, a sentence like this encourages readers to count themselves among the sensitive, honest, and responsible, with the inevitable effect of blinding themselves to their own insensitivities, dishonesties, and irresponsibilities, and to the evils committed by a group, party, or nation that they support. Their “dilemma” is softened by the comforting thought of their merits.

This is an example of how far Auden’s journey had taken him: from ideology to the anti-ideological liberalism of Isaiah Berlin, and then beyond that to a stance of deep self-criticism in which even anti-ideology is an ideology. As Mendelson notes, Auden dedicated “The Lakes” (1952) to Berlin. This poem is about preferring homely lakes to the great ocean, and enjoying their diversity and particularity. Berlin might agree, but Auden inserts a warning (not quoted here by Mendelson): “Liking one’s Nature, as lake-lovers do, benign / Goes with a wish for savage dogs and man-traps.”

At a high-theoretical level, Auden explored the many ways in which we are tempted to adopt self-aggrandizing ideas. In his poems, Auden depicted those clashing ideas with irony and humor. And in his private life, he tried to act kindly and lovingly toward all. It seems he actually lived the life he (over-generously) attributed to Sigmund Freud:

Of course they called on God, but he went his way
down among the lost people like Dante, down
to the stinking fosse where the injured
lead the ugly life of the rejected,

and showed us what evil is, not, as we thought,
deeds that must be punished, but our lack of faith,
our dishonest mood of denial,
the concupiscence of the oppressor.

(See also: In “Defense of Isaiah Berlin,” Six Types of Freedom,” “The Generational Politics of Turgenev,” “mapping a moral network: Auden in 1939,” “notes on Auden’s September 1, 1939,” “on the moral dangers of cliché,” and “morality in psychotherapy.”)

The post W.H. Auden’s long journey appeared first on Peter Levine.

You Only Die Once

I strongly dislike the phrase “YOLO,” the perky abbreviation for “You Only Live Once.” I was never a big fan of carpe diem, but at least the Latin gives the sentiment a little class.

Urban Diction defines YOLO as “The dumbass’ excuse for something stupid that they did.” Which is, I suppose, pretty much how it’s used.

It is, of course, everybody’s prerogative to embrace YOLO or whatever other life lessons they so choose. I’m not here to judge. But I find it disturbing when people shout the phrase with unbridled cheer.

You only live once. Indeed. Embrace the sentiment if you would like. But what does it really mean?

You Only Live Once means accepting that you can’t change the past. It means recognizing that the present will soon be gone, and that whatever you do today you’ll have to live with tomorrow.

You Only Live Once means cherishing every moment. It means there’s no such thing as wasted time. The line at the grocery store is a opportunity for self reflection. Sitting at the bus stop is a chance to watch the clouds. Every moment is a moment for thought, reflection, observation and beauty.

You Only Live Once means not worrying about what will happen after the here and now. These are the only moments you control, and this is your only chance to control them.

And, of course, You Only Live Once means that you might die tomorrow. And if you hope to die with no regrets on your lips, you’d best accept your death every moment of every day. You Only Live Once means you should fall asleep prepared to never wake up, and you should wake up prepared not to make it through the day.

Again, it’s everyone’s prerogative to embrace such sentiments if they so choose. But the dark reality of what it means to only live once seems more appropriate of Nietzsche than a girl downing jello shots.

So I’d propose a slight modification to this expression. Instead of You Only Live Once, let’s say what this really means. You Only Die Once. You only die once, and if you’re unlucky, that might happen tomorrow.

A bit wordy, perhaps, but that’s an expression I could get behind.

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the civic one million versus the Lesters

Lawrence Lessig makes the following argument in his TED Talk, his excellent stump speech (which he gave last week at Tufts), and his book The USA is Lesterland:

Members of Congress and candidates for Congress spend anywhere between 30% and 70% of their time raising money to get themselves elected or their party back in power. But they raise that money not from all of us. Instead, they raise that money from the tiniest fraction of the 1%. Less than 1/20th of 1% of America are the “relevant funders” of congressional campaigns. That means about 150,000 Americans, or about the same number who are named “Lester,” wield enormous power over this government. These “Lesters” determine this critical first election in every election cycle—the money election.

I could not agree more. I spent 1991-3 lobbying for campaign finance reform on behalf of Common Cause and have watched things deteriorate ever since. I admire Lessig’s extraordinary leadership and commitment, exemplified by his walking across New Hampshire recently to raise awareness. He has moved easily 1,000 times as many people as I have with my book The New Progressive Era and other writings about campaign finance.

Yet I am not that optimistic about the strategies he proposes. He is clear-eyed about the limitations of each strategy but leaves the audience wondering if anything can work. Here is where I would offer an alternative.

The “Lesters” are exceptionally powerful because their money buys communication. They do not literally purchase votes; they buy the ability to advertise and persuade. One reason that they raise so much money ($7 billion in 2012) is that mass communication has a low return on investment. Influencing elections is an expensive and uncertain proposition.

Meanwhile, in We are the Ones We Have Been Waiting For, I estimate that at least one million Americans are currently involved in demanding forms of civic work–projects and programs that involve strong elements of open-ended public deliberation. Collectively, they engage many millions of their fellow citizens. Their impact per dollar is much higher, because they have strong relationships with peers.

But they are so deeply invested in specific civic projects that they do not have the time to step back and ask why civic work is so frustrating and marginal in our society. A major reason is the corruption of our political institutions, and the Lesters are deeply implicated in that. The strategy I recommend is to organize the “Civic One Million” for political reform. They have vastly less money than the Lesters, but they may actually have more of what the Lesters try to buy: persuasiveness.

In practical terms, this means convening people who do civic work to ask why their efforts are so hard, to diagnose the barriers, and to develop collective strategies for political reform.

The post the civic one million versus the Lesters appeared first on Peter Levine.

Moral Dialogue

In class, we’ve been exploring “moral networks.” Earlier in the semester, our students mapped their networks, responding to prompts like What abstract moral principles seem compelling to you? and What personal virtues do you strive to develop?

Today they paired up, map in hand, and asked each other questions. What did you mean when you wrote that? How do these ideas connect?

After the conversations, we came back as a full group to discuss. Was this conversation like a one-on-one? We asked. Is it deliberation?

We also asked about spaces where these conversations can take place – and whether lack of such spaces has a negative impact on civil society.

“These conversations” would, of course, not literally be citizens coming together with diagrammed morals. But are there spaces where you can genuinely talk with others about what you believe and about what they believe?

Some people had these conversations. Many did not.

In Avoiding Politics: How Americans produce apathy in everyday life, sociologist Nina Eliasoph observes how people interact – constantly avoiding conflict. They may have passionate discussions around what type of cookie to sell at the bake sale, but the moment someone raises an issue of institutional racism the conversation gets shut down.

Problems that seem to hard, too solvable, and too likely to raise real debate are avoided in dialogue again and again and again.

Conflict avoidance isn’t the only barrier to authentic dialogue.

As Kenji Yoshino, describes in Covering: The Hidden Assault on our Civil Rights, people often hide their true selves – cover – in order to adhere to social norms. This covering, and this social pressure to cover, results in people burying their true selves, trying desperately to be the person they think society wants them to be – often with seriously detrimental results.

Yoshino argues that everybody covers to some degree, but looks particularly through the lens of civil rights. People of color who cover to fit a white social norm. Women who cover to fit a male social norm. Working class people who cover to fit a middle class norm.

You could add countless other forms of covering – the stigma around mental health, for example, leads many to “cover” those aspects of themselves.

Like Yoshino, I’m not intrinsically anti-covering, I’m okay with the guy who always says exactly what he’s thinking whether it’s a socially acceptable thing to say or not – but I don’t know that we all need to aspire to be that person.

But I do think covering is a problem. It’s a problem for the individuals who are unable to genuinely express themselves, and it’s a problem for all of us who lose those voices and perspectives from the conversation.

Covering diminishes all of us.

So, for yourself, try to push the boundaries of your comfort – try to trust people to accept you for who you are even if it seems impossible to imagine that they could. Even if you try just a little, its important to try.

And, more importantly, when you’re talking to others, know that they may be covering – that they probably are covering. They probably have thoughts and ideas and feelings that they assume you will judged them for. Pieces of themselves that they are unsure to share, but which are core to their identity, no matter how far they’ve tried to push it down.

A dialogue takes two people. It’s your job to not only to listen and talk, but to share your authentic self and to openly welcome others to do the same. A conversation isn’t about you, it’s about inviting the other person to share a piece of themselves – and, importantly, to accept and welcome the piece they share with you.

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toward a technique for moral reflection

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My undergraduate students have identified their own most significant moral ideas and commitments and the important connections among them. The image above shows the networks that have resulted so far–with each student colored differently, and each idea shown as shared if two or more students held it. Today, students are pairing up to explain their moral networks and will adjust their own maps if their partners propose persuasive ideas (or remind them of any ideas they forgot). I anticipate that the class map will become a tighter network as a result.

As I briefly explained in class, a network is a model that can be used to describe anyone’s moral thought. The nodes are ideas; the links are various kinds of connections. That people have moral networks is not a theory that could be found true or false. Rather, a network is a tool for visualizing how anyone thinks.

Often, when we try to improve our moral thought, we seek a systematic philosophy or theology. At any rate, systems (such as Kantianism, utilitarianism, or the classical Hinduism of the Bhagavad Gita) are what we most often teach in courses on philosophy and religion.

Any system organizes the whole network in some way. For instance, the system may assert that there is one highest good (very general and abstract) that should imply all the other ideas on our map. Or the system may offer an algorithm for determining which ideas belong and which ones trump other ones.

If a moral system is valid, then an individual can relate directly to it. You can adopt it as your network. You don’t need other people to help apply the system to your own life.

If you can make a moral system work, that’s fine. But I find that almost all reflective people are not systematic; they have lots of related ideas without a coherent structure. (The same has also been found by some psychologists and sociologists.) This is even true of very religious people. They may assert that God knows one organized structure or even the God holds just one idea. But we can’t know it. We humans must hold lots of different beliefs, values, stories, heroes, etc.–closely connected but not reducible to a system.

If we can’t adopt a system, the other way to improve is constantly to reflect on and revise our own networks. This is more like gardening than architecture. You start with what’s already growing, and you trim, weed, and plant one idea at a time. That process requires other people because we need their perspectives and experiences to provide ideas and to check our own biases. We can expect that our moral network will be dynamic and somewhat situational. (We’ll have different ideas in different contexts.)

At times in the history of thought, systematic moral theories have been dominant. But those moments have alternated with times when many of the leading thinkers just can’t assent to the available systems. They instead offer techniques for moral reflection and self-improvement (a.k.a. moral therapy, or moral hygiene). For instance, the systematic moment of Plato and Aristotle gave way to Stoicism, Epicureanism, and Skepticism, which are all about techniques of self-improvement. The high point of medieval Catholic systematic theology gave way to Renaissance essayists like Montaigne. The era of Kant and Hegel gave way to Emerson and Nietzsche. I think the same alternation has occurred in Eastern thought as well.

The thinkers who teach methods of continuous moral improvement vary a great deal, but I find a very frequent return to three fundamental criteria, each in tension with the other two: 1) truth, or at least the avoidance of error; 2) community or justice; and 3) happiness or inner peace. For instance, those are the three criteria in Greco-Roman thought after Aristotle. Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel, a rabbi of about the same time, is supposed to have said: “On three things the world stands: justice, truth, and peace.” In Buddhism, the Three Jewels are Buddha (freedom from suffering), dharma (law—but in Buddhism, it often means truth), and sangha (community).

And that is why I am interested in putting people into dialogue with each other about their moral networks and asking them to reflect on whether their networks are compatible with truth, community, and happiness.

The post toward a technique for moral reflection appeared first on Peter Levine.

Land Grants, Extension and the Promise of Civic Science

As I described in my last column on public happiness, Nicholas Kristof's recent New York Times column on the detachment of academics from today's debates ("Professors, We Need You!" February 15, 2014) reflects growing sentiment that academics need to make their views "public." The public work tradition in land grant colleges and the extension service adds another element -- academics are citizens, with multiple contributions to make to public life.

Kristof is part of a trend. Thus, a January 2012 editorial in the leading science journal Nature calls for scientists to get into the fray. "Where political leadership on climate change is lacking scientists must be prepared to stick their heads above the parapet." The editorial observed that "climate change contrarians are multiplying in numbers." Their solution: "Climate scientists must be ever more energetic in taking their message to citizens."

The assumption reflected in the Nature editorial is that academics are different than citizens.

Who is a citizen?

Growing academic detachment over the past half century, detailed in studies such as Thomas Bender and Carl Schorske's collection, American Academic Cultures in Transformation, has played a powerful, if invisible, role in this distinction. Detachment has fueled what Bender describes as the shift from "civic professionalism" to "disciplinary professionalism." This shift operates everywhere, affecting common views of "citizenship" itself.

When the Center for Democracy and Citizenship partnered with Falcoln Heights, Minnesota, in a discussion of what roles citizens can play in quelling school violence after the Newtown tragedy, the audience of 25 or so in the citizen town hall included the mayor, the police chief, the city manager, teachers, a local principal, social agency workers, a university professor from the College of Architecture and Design, four students, IT business entrepreneurs -- and two elderly residents. The residents expressed regret that "there are so few citizens," implying that "citizens" are volunteers like themselves.

No one from any of the work sites in the community raised any questions about the definition. When town hall facilitators did raise questions, it prompted a lively conversation about how much power there might be in the community to address gun violence if people see their work in civic terms and work sites as civic sites.

We have become a nation of consumers of democracy, not producers of democracy. Today, as a result, Americans feel collective powerlessness to address mounting problems. And faculty members, role models for the legion of professionals who are shaped in college, have played an unwitting part in this process as they have come to see themselves, at most, as simply providing expert advice and as training other professional experts. Conventional views of citizenship now take public and civic meanings of work off the map. Citizen teachers, civic business owners, citizen clergy, citizen librarians, citizen nurses, even "civil" servants have disappeared.

In a time of enormous change, higher education has strong self-interest in understanding and claiming its invisible power to shape the civic identities and careers of its students. Colleges and universities need to become vital parts of the work of building a democratic society.

The land grant legacy as a resource:

Here, the democratic history of land grants and the extension system holds many lessons. The American Commonwealth Partnership coalition, which the White House invited me to organize to mark the 150th anniversary of the Morrill Act establishing land grant colleges in 2012, sought to make this history better known.

From the beginning, land grant colleges often sought to develop professionals with a strong sense of civic responsibilities and the civic skills to act effectively. Such emphasis deepened with the creation of extension in 1914. Thus, Liberty Hyde Bailey, a leading horticulturalist, chair of Theodore Roosevelt's Country Life Commission which developed the extension philosophy, stressed practical work with communities to solve public problems and to create civic capacity.

"Students in agriculture are...to take part in a great regeneration. The student in agriculture is fitting himself for a great work," said Bailey.

He challenged a narrow view of Extension work, where Extension agents and academics simply provide technical or scientific information. The expert role alone could create dangerous dependencies.

"The re-direction of any civilization must rest primarily on the people who comprise it, rather than be imposed from persons in other conditions of life," said Bailey.

College-based rural scientists needed to keep in mind the most important objective: helping communities develop their own capacity for self-action and rural democracy. The point was not merely solving the specific problem. Rather, it was the fact that the public work of problem-solving creates opportunities to deepen civic agency.

Civic science brings democracy and science together:

Though the term was not used, these practices can be called "civic science," a politics of knowledge in which scientists are citizens. This civic science came alive in soil conservation efforts during the Great Depression. Soil conservation scientists were constantly reminded that the community's knowledge was prior to their own. Gaining a deep understanding of the community, its history, culture, political life, conflicts, was essential for their efforts. The result is today's magnificent system of contour farming across the Midwest.

At the White House 2012 meeting, ACP launched Civic Science, an initiative which John Spencer and I described in an earlier blog to recall histories of democratic scientific practices and to flesh them out in an explicit conceptual framework.

Involving leading scientists, our civic science team re-conceptualizes scientists as citizens, learning the skills and practices of collaborative public work with other citizens on pressing public problems. Civic science stresses science as a resource for action in the world, not mainly an external description of the world. It highlights citizens as co-creators of democracy, and emphasizes civic empowerment.

The National Science Foundation, with a grant to our colleagues at the University of Iowa's Delta Center, is supporting a workshop this fall to further develop civic science. The workshop will create a set of "lessons from the field" based on powerful case studies of civic science in different areas. We will also begin to firm up a strategy for a network of civic science sites.

We believe that cooperative extension, celebrating its 100th anniversary this year, will provide an important venue for civic science, in a time of enormous challenges and opportunities.

Harry Boyte, director of the Center for Democracy and Citizenship at Augsburg College and a Senior Fellow at the Humphrey School of Public Affairs, has collaborated with the Delta Center over the past decade in developing the framework of civic science. Boyte is Co-Principal Investigator on the National Science Foundation civic science grant. This post is adapted from "Extension Reconsidered and the Promise of Civic Science," in the Extension Reconsidered blog, discussing and debating the future of the Extension Service.

Join us April 24th for Text, Talk, Act on Mental Health – Part II Electric Boogaloo

creating solutions

As you know, NCDD is part of the collaboration running the Creating Community Solutions national dialogue effort aimed at tackling mental health issues in our communities. We have been supporting the effort in many ways, including collaborating on the “Text, Talk, Act” nationwide text-enhanced dialogue last December.

We are pleased to announce that another installment of the Text, Talk, Act conversation will be taking place this April 24th.

The Text, Talk, Act to Improve Mental Health conversation will be an hour-long event that uses text messaging to get people talking about mental health and encourage them to take action. The hope is that through this event, young people (and not-so-young people!) can have a conversation with their peers and give voice to an issue that can otherwise be difficult for them to speak about.

Last year’s event was a big success, with an estimated 2,000 people participating in the conversation (600 phones). Participants described the event this way:

We encourage NCDD members–especially those of you based at universities and high schools–to participate in this important effort. On April 24th, you can dial in and participate in the conversation, or better yet, you can convene your own dialogue event on mental health and use the Text, Talk, Act event as a starting point for your own conversations. We would love to see NCDD members hosting their own conversations, and if you do, we ask that you register your event so that it can be listed on the Creating Community Solutions dialogue map.

It’s easy to get plugged into the event by following these simple steps:

  1. At any time on April 24th, gather 3-4 of your friends, family, classmates, students, and/or colleagues;
  2. Text “start” to 89800; and
  3. Receive polling and discussion questions via text messaging while having a face-to-face dialogue with your group.

Learn more by visiting www.creatingcommunitysolutions.org/texttalkact. You can also watch and share the informational video on the campaign.

We hope to see many of you join in this important nationwide conversation on April 24th!

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