I recently watched and enjoyed For All Mankind on Apple TV. The series presents an alternate history in which Soviet cosmonauts landed on the moon before American astronauts. The first season is excellent; the second is a mixed bag, but at times excellent.
Though the Apollo 8 mission is the centerpiece of the book, Kluger also recounts the history of the U.S. space program leading up to the first lunar flight, and he spends time getting to know Apollo 8’s crew: Frank Borman, Jim Lovell, and Bill Anders. Kluger does so in a clear, narrative form, even throwing in some dialogue to bring the scenes to life.
The book goes into gritty detail about how challenging and claustrophobic space travel can be—the constant danger, the cramped quarters, the stale air, the utter lack of privacy, and the absence of proper restroom facilities and the resulting indignities. At first glance, biological necessities do suck much of the romance out of exploration, but such details help illustrate what a tremendous, aspirational feat this whole mission was, with an abundance of courage, effort, intelligence, ingenuity, humility, and competence needed to make this voyage happen.
NASA achieved something unprecedented by sending three people far enough into space to view the entire Earth as a single, whole entity. Previous astronauts and cosmonauts had seen the Earth from space, but never so completely.
Kluger writes, “Now, however, Borman, Lovell, and Anders could see the planet floating alone, unsupported, in space. The Earth was no longer the soil beneath their feet or the horizon below their spacecraft. It was an almost complete disk of light suspended in front of them, a delicate Christmas tree ornament made of swirls of blue and white glass. It looked impossibly beautiful—and impossibly breakable.”
The mission occurred in the context of the Cold War, and competition between the United States and Soviet Union provided a motivating factor. But it seems to have quickly become about much more than trying to one-up a rival power.
Ultimately, Apollo 8 became an achievement for humanity, one that tapped into a shared thirst for exploration and discovery. The 1968 Christmas Eve broadcast from the moon’s orbit brought together the then-largest audience to view a single broadcast. Never had so few been heard by so many. For that matter, never had anyone been heard by so many. Interest in this mission united people from varying countries, backgrounds, and beliefs. Men were flying around the moon, and it was amazing.
The crew chose to read a Bible passage during the broadcast, one from Genesis. I appreciate the choice, not so much for the religious context, but just the idea of reading an ancient text while doing something that had never been done before. When the Genesis story was first written down, the idea of sending people into the heavens was nothing but a distant fantasy, utterly unobtainable.
But what was once impossible is now part of history.
After the flight, Borman predicted that scientists would someday station themselves on the moon, like they do in Antarctica. “I’m convinced it is no longer whether we’ll do these things, it’s a question of how long it will take and how much we’ll spend,” he said. “Exploration is really the essence of the human spirit, and I hope we will never forget that.”
Outside of fictional TV shows, that moon base clearly hasn’t come to pass … so far.
Wiencek examines how George Washington’s views on slavery evolved throughout the course of his life. As a young, ambitious man, Washington uncritically accepted slavery, but at the end of his life, he amended his will to free all his slaves and provide for the younger ones’ education. In between, he gradually acquired scruples about slavery, such as when he realized that perhaps it was wrong to split up families when selling slaves.
The author doesn’t let Washington off the hook for participating in such an evil system. For example, Washington was once callous enough to raffle off slaves as prizes, and Wiencek doesn’t shy away from informing his readers about it. But he also gives credit where credit is due, painting a three-dimensional portrait of “a man of his time and ahead of his time,” as the jacket blurb in my edition describes Washington.
Washington never evolved on the issue as much as we would have liked him to. He was quite possibly the one man in America with the moral authority to provide real leadership and make real headway in ending slavery, but he failed to do so. Nevertheless, he increasingly questioned his own beliefs even as his own family remained firmly pro-slavery, which was a feat in its own right.
In the introduction, Wiencek starts at the end, with Washington’s decision to free his slaves. The author writes:
“It was an astounding decision. As he sat in his study—a room that one visitor called ‘the focus of political intelligence for the new world’—Washington felt the isolation of the man who can see what others cannot or will not. He was a man who had discovered that his moral system was wrong. He had helped to create a new world but had allowed into it an infection that he feared would eventually destroy it.”
Throughout the book, Wiencek illustrates how degrading, inhumane, and brutal slavery was, and he explores the culture surrounding the horrible institution. He mentions one slaveowner, Robert “King” Carter, who would have his overseers cut off slaves’ toes so they wouldn’t run away—a practice that received the blessing of the law in 1705.
We all understand that slavery was a historical atrocity. An Imperfect God helps show us how it was an atrocity. At the same time, the book, through Washington, foreshadows young America’s ability to improve.
Coincidentally, not long after I read this book, I read Gone with the Wind. The contrast between the history and the historical fiction was stark indeed, revealing how the novel sanitizes slavery to an offensive degree.
As a novel, Gone with the Wind is brilliant. As historical fiction, it’s fiction. The novel depicts an idealized version of the antebellum South, as well as the destruction of that idealized world. That makes for a great story, but we have to take it for what it is—an entirely fictitious story set in an alternate reality.
I likely would have reached similar conclusions even without having read Wiencek’s book. But fortunately, I did read the nonfiction first, and it enriched my experience reading Gone with the Wind.
To those who haven’t already read them, I recommend both books—but start with the actual history.
Vladimir Lenin was the sort of person who should never, ever have been given any power. His ruthlessness during the Russian Revolution makes that clear, but he foreshadowed his cold-blooded disregard for human life much earlier.
In 1891-92, Russia’s Volga region experienced its worst famine in many years. According to Victor Sebestyen in his biography Lenin: The Man, the Dictator, and the Master of Terror, more than 400,000 people died over the course of the famine, either starving to death or contracting typhus or cholera.
“The central government did almost nothing to help the millions of starving peasants who poured into the towns begging for food,” Sebestyen writes.
This was, of course, not yet Lenin’s government. (And he wasn’t yet calling himself Lenin, but I’ll use that name here for simplicity’s sake.) Nevertheless, as a private individual, Lenin showed no sympathy for the famine’s victims. Relief campaigns were launched, but he had no interest in such efforts.
“For him the important thing was that the famine would weaken the autocracy and might further the cause of the Revolution. The thousands of people who died of hunger were simply unfortunate casualties of a war against Tsarist oppression,” Sebestyen writes.
Lenin was pretty much alone in this line of thinking. His callousness disturbed even his sisters, who were normally supportive of him.
His sister Maria is quoted as saying, “Vladimir Ilyich, it seems to me, had a very different nature from Alexander Ilyich [their late brother]. Vladimir … did not have the quality of self-sacrifice even though he devoted his whole life indivisibly to the cause of the working class.”
Sebestyen says, “He would shrug off accusations that he was inhumane, using an inflexible logic and a cold interpretation of Marxism which Marx himself would never have countenanced.”
He goes on to quote Lenin as saying, “It’s sentimentality to think that a sea of need could be emptied with the teaspoon of philanthropy. The famine … played the role of a progressive factor.”
After Lenin gained power, another food shortage occurred in 1918. The Bolsheviks didn’t cause the problem, but they, led by Lenin, amplified the pain and suffering.
Sebestyen notes that there were very few rich peasants in Russia at the time, but that didn’t stop Lenin from using them as scapegoats. The dictator branded rich peasants as “kulaks” and accused them of hoarding grain and starving Russia on purpose.
“The kulaks are the rabid foes of the Soviet government … these bloodsuckers have grown rich on the hunger of the people. These spiders have grown fat out of the workers. These leeches have sucked the blood of the working people and grown richer as the workers in the cities have starved. Ruthless war on the kulaks! Death to all of them,” Lenin said in a speech.
Lenin first expected the peasants to sell their grains to the government at an insultingly low price. The peasants, naturally, refused. So, Lenin established the Food Commissariat and unleashed armed requisition brigades on more than 20,000 villages within a couple of months.
As Sebestyen describes it, the brigades engaged in brutality—torturing peasants, stripping them, sometimes even killing them. One Bolshevik official compared the brigades’ work to “a medieval inquisition.”
Some Bolsheviks worried that the brigades were too harsh, to the detriment of the party’s reputation. Lenin did not relent.
Lenin’s instructions to Bolshevik chiefs illustrate a toxic combination of heartlessness and ruthlessness:
“Comrades, the kulak uprising in your five districts must be crushed without pity. The interests of the whole Revolution demand it, for the final and decisive battle with the kulaks everywhere is now engaged. An example must be made. 1.) Hang (and I mean hang, so the people can see) not less than 100 known kulaks, rich men, bloodsuckers. 2.) Publish their names. 3.) Identify hostages … Do this so that for hundreds of miles around the people can see, tremble, know, and cry: they are killing and will go on killing the bloodsucking kulaks.”
In a postscript, Lenin added, “Find tougher people.”
According to Sebestyen, at least 3,700 were killed during the first year of food requisitions, and some villages were burned down. These extreme measures had little effect on the overall problem, and yet they set a terrible precedent.
He writes that “campaigns against the kulaks and forcing farmers at gunpoint to produce for the State became a feature of Soviet life for decades to come.”
Anyone who perceives utility in human suffering can’t be trusted to wield power with the necessary humility and compassion. Whatever good intentions Lenin may have had for Russia’s future, he quickly invalidated them with his willingness to dispose of people for his ideological cause.
In hindsight, the warning signs were there years before his ascension.
Herbert Hoover typically ranks fairly low among U.S. presidents. It’s certainly hard to consider his presidency a success when it coincided with the Great Depression.
For some time, a myth persisted that Hoover was a do-nothing, laissez faire president who stood idly by while the economy collapsed. That’s blatantly false, and historians have been correcting the record on that. He may not have taken the correct courses of action as president, but doing nothing was not in his nature.
At his core, Herbert Hoover was a hands-on problem solver, a trait he demonstrated during World War I when he, as a civilian, took it upon himself to organize food relief for Belgium’s entire population of 7.5 million people.
The German army had invaded and occupied Belgium, and among the tragic results, shipments stopped coming into a country that imported eighty percent of its food supply. The Germans consumed much of what was on hand, and they felt no obligation to feed the occupied population.
The British believed the Germans were responsible for feeding its captured territories, and the Germans blamed the British navy for blocking shipments. Meanwhile, 7.5 million people faced the prospect of starvation.
According to Kenneth Whyte in his biography Hoover, Herbert Hoover was living in London at the outset of World War I, and he met an American engineer, Millard Shaler, who was tasked with shipping 1,500 tons of cereals into Belgium. British trade officials wanted the neutral United States to supervise the delivery.
Washington, sadly, was slow to act, and $100,000 worth of food wasted away on a dock. A newspaper headline at the time read, “U.S. red tape starves Brussels.”
Hoover, Whyte writes, “was as galvanized by Belgium’s distress as he was furious at Washington’s foot dragging.”
So, Hoover developed a plan. With the support of U.S. Ambassador Walter Page, he met with various officials over the course of four days to discuss the situation and what could be done. Issues ranged from dietary requirements to difficulties of wartime shipping. The main challenges would be convincing the British to allow the food to be shipped into enemy territory and preventing the Germans from seizing the food for themselves.
The cold-hearted militaristic perspective was that if Belgium starved, the citizens would revolt and thus divert the attention of the German forces, thereby helping the Allies. To counter this, Hoover proposed a public relations campaign to elicit sympathy for the suffering nation, and that was merely one facet of the overall plan.
Hoover drafted a charter for the Committee for the Relief of Belgium (CRB). Based in London and chaired by Hoover, the organization would be private, neutral, and run by volunteers. Its officers were to be men with relevant commercial experience also working for free, ensuring that the money raised actually went toward the mission of feeding Belgium.
The CRB would fundraise from public and private sources alike, purchase food from different countries, and ship the food to Rotterdam and then into Belgium. A Belgian committee would handle the distribution from there.
Hoover insisted on strong centralization within the organization, and he believed a monopoly would be most effective, rather than diluting relief efforts among numerous well-meaning organizations, none of which would be vigorous enough to accomplish the monumental job.
Whyte notes that the CRB was not the first international humanitarian relief effort, but it possessed an unprecedented scope.
“The aim of the CRB was to provide almost the entire food supply for a nation of 7.5 million people, indefinitely. Hoover, representing a neutral country, intended to move massive supplies of food from the capital of one belligerent country (London) to the capital of a captive country (Brussels) occupied by their mutual enemy (Berlin). He would manage all of this in an atmosphere of war-bred suspicion and hate, and despite the disruption of conventional transportation and commercial activity in what was already shaping up to be the most destructive war in history,” Whyte says.
He continues, “No humanitarian venture, public or private, had ever approached Hoover’s initiative in scale or audacity.”
As CRB chair, Hoover acquired a unique form of diplomatic immunity. “Perhaps no other individual in the world moved so easily across enemy lines during the Great War,” Whyte says.
Hoover was also willing to sacrifice his personal fortune for the cause. “Let the fortune go to hell,” he’s quoted as saying.
There were, of course, difficulties. Costs exceeded projections, with a monthly $1 million tab ballooning into $4 million a month, and then $6 million a month. In 1915, the CRB expanded its scope to include feeding an additional 2 million people in Northern France.
Hoover sought government subsidies, which weren’t so easy to come by. The British believed relief efforts would ultimately just help the enemy and prolong the war, and the Germans weren’t eager to help either. Hoover realized that appealing to the combatants’ better natures wasn’t an effective strategy in this situation, so he played on their fears, telling both sides whatever he thought they needed to hear. Hoover saw his job as keeping Belgium fed, and if he had to bend the truth to accomplish that goal, so be it.
At one point, Hoover toured Belgium to observe the situation firsthand. He described the country as “a land of imprisonment” and said the Belgians were “surrounded by a ring of steel and utterly unable by any conceivable effort to save themselves.”
However, Hoover couldn’t bring himself to look at the food lines or directly interact with anyone receiving aid.
Whyte quotes an unnamed U.S. official as saying, “He told of the work in Belgium as coldly as if he were giving statistics of production. From his words and his manner he seemed to regard human beings as so many numbers. Not once did he show the slightest feeling.”
Reticent though Hoover was, those human feelings apparently did exist deep within, and he was particularly bothered by the plight of hungry children. “It is difficult to state the position of the civil population of Belgium without becoming hysterical,” Hoover said.
It’s true that Hoover was no saint. He could be rather thin-skinned and vain in the face of criticism, often resorting to ad hominem to defend himself. In any situation like this, it’s easy to take the cynical view and question a person’s motives in undertaking such a mission, especially when the person later goes into politics.
But the bottom line is that the CRB succeeded in saving many from starvation.
Hoover chaired the CRB for thirty months, until the United States entered World War I and he could no longer pass for a neutral entity. During those thirty months, according to Whyte, the CRB spent $200 million and shipped 2.5 million tons of food. Dutch and Spanish authorities then took over its operations, and by the war’s end, the organization had spent $865 million in total, with only $4 million of that going to administrative overhead.
Without Hoover’s intervention, the situation in Belgium could have been so much worse.
Whyte writes that Hoover’s “vision and experience enabled him to foresee the demands of industrial-scale humanitarianism in an age of industrialized global war.”
Hoover may not have been the man America needed during the Great Depression, but he was the man Belgium needed during World War I.
Abraham Lincoln improved the Declaration of Independence.
He didn’t revise a single word of it. He didn’t need to. The words were always correct. The introduction, in particular, is timeless. But he expanded the scope of whom the words applied to.
The Declaration states, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”
Obviously, when this was written and adopted, the American colonies did not practice what the document preached. It’s easy to point the finger back through history and pass judgment on the glaring hypocrisy of a slaveowner writing these words, as well as on the failure of the Founding Fathers to eradicate slavery as they secured greater freedoms for themselves. And criticism is absolutely deserved.
But we also need to remember the full historical context of the culture the Founding Fathers inherited and the improvements they made within it. They did what they could, and subsequent generations would need to take the next steps.
Lincoln understood that. When he argued against slavery in the 1850s, he didn’t self-righteously blast the Founders for their failures on the issue. Rather, he noticed the torch they dropped, picked it up, and ran it down the next leg of the relay, even while many didn’t want him to.
Slavery’s defenders and apologists attempted to downplay the importance of the Declaration of Independence. They dismissed the notion that “all men are created equal” as either flat-out wrong or as intended to refer only to white men.
As Ronald C. White Jr. writes in the biography A. Lincoln, “For many Whigs, the Declaration became noteworthy chiefly as a historical signpost. This view, as Lincoln well understood, defused the Declaration as an impetus for reform in mid-nineteenth-century American life.”
So Lincoln, instead, helped reassert the importance of that document, elevating the ideals it espoused and pointing out how broadly they applied.
“The assertion that ‘all men are created equal’ was of no practical use in effecting our separation from Great Britain,” Lincoln said, as quoted in Lincoln’s Melancholyby Joshua Wolf Shenk, “and it was placed in the Declaration, not for that, but for future use. Its authors meant it to be, thank God, it is now proving itself, a stumbling block to those who in after times might seek to turn a free people back into the hateful paths of despotism. They knew the proneness of prosperity to breed tyrants, and they meant when such should re-appear in this fair land and commence their vocation they should find left for them at least one hard nut to crack.”
Lincoln was not as enlightened on racial issues as we would have liked. Though opposed to slavery, he did not believe in full social equality. Still, he was ahead of the curve compared to many of his contemporaries, and that should not be dismissed.
White quotes Lincoln as saying, “I think the authors of that notable instrument intended to include all men, but they did not intend to declare all men equal in all respects. They did not mean to say all were equal in color, size, intellect, moral developments, or social capacity.”
But, Lincoln went on to say, the Founders did declare that all men were created equal in terms of the inalienable rights listed in the document: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
“There is no reason in the world why the negro is not entitled to all the natural rights enumerated in the Declaration of Independence, the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I hold that he is as much entitled to these as the white man,” Lincoln said, as quoted in Lincoln’s Melancholy.
According to Shenk, Lincoln said that the Founders were hostile to the principle of slavery and tolerated it only by necessity.
As Shenk writes, “The Founders recognized the evil, Lincoln said, and made accommodations to restrict it, believing that the very experiment in liberty could be spoiled if they acted to end it too quickly.”
Shenk adds, “The spirit of the Declaration, Lincoln said, was meant to be realized — to the greatest extent possible — by each succeeding generation. The Founders cast off despotism and created the framework for a free republic, invoking, as they did, not arguments of mere self-interest but the ideal of natural, universal, God-given rights.”
“They meant to set up a standard maxim for free society, which should be familiar to all, and revered by all; constantly looked to, constantly labored for … even though never perfectly attained,” Lincoln said.
Lincoln’s focus was not on perfection but on improvement, something he practiced in his own life as he rose from humble origins.
The Founders were not perfect, not by a long shot, but they improved the world around them. The world required further improvement. Lincoln, also far from perfect, achieved significant milestones with the Emancipation Proclamation and his leadership in defeating the Confederacy, and he knew there would be still further improvement needed after his time, and for all time.
“That is the issue that will continue in this country when these poor tongues of Judge Douglas and myself shall be silent,” Lincoln said during an 1860 debate, identifying the issue as “the eternal struggle between these two principles—right and wrong—throughout the world.”
Lincoln continued, “They are the two principles that have stood face to face from the beginning of time; and will ever continue to struggle. The one is the common right of humanity and the other is the divine right of kings. It is the same principle in whatever shape it develops itself. It is the same spirit that says: ‘You work and toil and earn bread, and I’ll eat it’” (A. Lincoln, White).
I highly recommend Destiny of the Republic by Candice Millard. The book details how James A. Garfield was elected to the presidency despite not even wanting the job, and how a deranged office seeker shot him, leading to a slow, agonizing death over the course of two and a half months.
It’s an absolutely fantastic and fascinating book, but here I just want to focus on one thread of the overall story: Chester Arthur’s evolution from reviled political crony to a respected, competent president of the United States.
Chester Arthur is one of those late 19th-century presidents most of us know very little about. And true, he’s not the most remarkable president there ever was. What’s most remarkable about him is how, in defiance of all expectations and his own previous behavior, he managed to rise to the level of decent.
Arthur was nominated as a vice presidential candidate to become a ticket balancer, essentially, and because he would ensure the support of Republican Party boss Roscoe Conkling. Garfield was not consulted on his running mate’s nomination, and indeed, as vice president, Arthur was more loyal to Conkling than to Garfield.
Before becoming VP, Arthur’s only political appointment was as a collector of the New York Customs House. Conkling secured the position, which carried a hefty salary. According to Millard, Arthur seldom arrived at work before noon, and the future President of the United States left the position in the wake of corruption allegations.
Millard quotes an unnamed man, speaking to a reporter, who captured the general sentiment felt toward Arthur: “Gen. Arthur appears as a politician of the most ordinary character, a man whose sole thought is of political patronage, and a man who has for his bosom friends and intimate companions those with whom no gentleman should associate.”
So, after Garfield was shot, people were understandably apprehensive about the increasingly likely prospect of a President Chet Arthur. Arthur himself seemed to be as apprehensive as anyone, and he kept out of sight while doctors were desperately trying to save Garfield’s life. He didn’t want to be seen as usurping the presidency while the president still lived.
But eventually he would have to come out of hiding and face reality, and he received his most important encouragement from a total stranger.
Julia Sand, whom Millard describes as a 32-year-old unmarried invalid, reached out to Arthur and appealed to his better nature in a series of letters. Arthur kept 23 of the letters she sent him.
“The hours of Garfield’s life are numbered—before this meets your eye, you may be President. The day the was shot, the thought rose in a thousand minds that you might be the instigator of the foul act. Is not that a humiliation which cuts deeper than any bullet can pierce?” Sand wrote in her first letter.
“Your kindest opponents will say: ‘Arthur will try to do right’—adding gloomily—‘He won’t succeed, though—making a man President cannot change him.’ But making a man President can change him! Great emergencies awaken generous traits which have lain dormant half a life. If there is a spark of true nobility in you, now is the occasion to let it shine. Faith in your better nature forces me tow right to you—not to beg you to resign. Do what is more difficult & more brave. Reform!”
Sand also wrote, “It is not the proof of highest goodness never to have done, but it is a proof of it…to recognize the evil, to turn resolutely against it.”
Arthur heeded her advice, and he strove to be the sort of president Garfield would have. While Arthur was never going to be a great man, he succeeded in winning over the critics who were dreading his presidency.
Arthur McClure, a journalist of the era, wrote, “No man ever entered the Presidency so profoundly and widely distrusted, and no one ever retired … more generally respected.”
Even Mark Twain himself commented, “I am but one in 55,000,000; still, in the opinion of this one-fifty-five millionth of the country’s population, it would be hard to better President Arthur’s Administration.”
A stranger’s unsolicited compassion and faith helped save Arthur from himself, and helped save the country from a few years of an inept, shallow president. It’s something to keep in mind whenever we’re tempted to write someone off as irredeemable.
The Gulag Archipelago documents and examines the horrors of the Soviet prison camps. It’s the Russian literature equivalent of historical nonfiction. Comparing it to a traditional history book is like comparing War and Peace or The Brothers Karamazov to a traditional novel.
Written by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn (a survivor of the gulags), even the abridged version is a sprawling, epic work. The author compiles not only his own experiences but those of many others to paint a thorough portrait of the oppressive atmosphere permeating Russia in the early to mid-20th century. He drills into the psyches of prisoners as well as guards, elevating the book into an insightful study of human nature.
I admit, I read only the abridged version, and I had to start and stop a few times to break it up with some lighter fare. The prose isn’t difficult to read at all, but the subject matter is intense.
Obviously, this book is not entertainment, but it’s worth the effort. And remembering the broader story of 20th-century Russia, a historic tragedy in which millions died and many more suffered, is important.
Ruled by the nearly 300-year-old Romanov dynasty, Russia began the century behind the times and in serious need of reform. But when revolution finally happened, conditions worsened and atrocities commenced. The Gulag Archipelago is a good starting point for learning how, and it can help us temper our righteous desire for change with the appropriate humility and caution.
The book has tons of excellent quotes. Here’s just a small sampling:
Power is a poison well known for thousands of years. If only no one were ever to acquire material power over others! But to the human being who has faith in some force that holds dominion over all of us, and who is therefore conscious of his own limitations, power is not necessarily fatal. For those, however, who are unaware of any higher sphere, it is a deadly poison. For them there is no antidote.
So let the reader who expects this book to be a political expose slam its covers shut right now.
If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?
Ideology—that is what gives evildoing its long-sought justification and gives the evildoer the necessary steadfastness and determination. That is the social theory which helps to make his acts seem good instead of bad in his own and others’ eyes, so that he won’t hear reproaches and curses but will receive praise and honors.
Unlimited power in the hands of limited people always leads to cruelty.
The permanent lie becomes the only safe form of existence, in the same way as betrayal. Every wag of the tongue can be overheard by someone, every facial expression observed by someone. Therefore every word, if it does not have to be a direct lie, is nonetheless obliged not to contradict the general, common lie. There exists a collection of ready-made phrases, of labels, a selection of ready-made lies.
Truth, it seems, is always bashful, easily reduced to silence by the too blatant encroachment of falsehood.
The prolonged absence of any free exchange of information within a country opens up a gulf of incomprehension between whole groups of the population, between millions and millions.
We simply cease to be a single people, for we speak, indeed, different languages.
I’m here to learn about history, and learning is what this website is all about.
I am not a professional historian. I do not have a degree in history. My B.A. is in English and Theatre, and my resume includes such roles as reporter, editor, proofreader, playwright, and novelist, but nothing in the field of history.
However, for many years now, I’ve enjoyed learning about history on my own, primarily U.S. history. I’ve recently branched out into British and Russian history as well, and I intend to continue branching out. I have a lot to learn. I’ll never be finished learning. And that’s what this is all about.
I’m a student, not an expert. I’m here to explore, not preach.
An important part of learning is sharing what we learn, and that’s what I’ll do here. This will help my own retention and hopefully encourage others to embark on their own studies, or help them discover new books.
The topics will vary, and I’ll jump around through history quite a bit, sort of like a series of Doctor Who episodes (minus the episodes set in the future, alas). I’ll talk mostly about books I’ve read, but also interesting articles or videos I’ve come across, and maybe even historical sites I’ve visited (living in Virginia, I’ve got more than a few within range).
Like any student, I’ll almost certainly make mistakes along the way. So, while I will strive for accuracy, take anything I say with a grain of salt and do your own research. Again, I am not a professional.
And I’m realizing that the above disclaimer is in the spirit of the disclaimers George Washington would issue. In accepting command of the Continental Army, Washington said, “I beg it be remember[e]d by every Gent[lema]n in the room that I this day declare, with the utmost sincerity, I do not think myself equal to the command I [am] honoured with” (Washington: A Lifeby Ron Chernow).
Washington typically lowered expectations and apologized for not being perfect, right up through his farewell address, when he wrote, “Though, in reviewing the incidents of my administration, I am unconscious of intentional error, I am nevertheless too sensible of my defects not to think it probable that I may have committed many errors. Whatever they may be, I fervently beseech the Almighty to avert or mitigate the evils to which they may tend.”
See? Even a historical figure as phenomenally successful as George Washington can teach us something about humility. The lessons of history are applicable in so many ways.
I will not be a perfect student of history, but I aim to improve.
Feel free to contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org with any suggestions or constructive criticism.