On the way home from the store tonight, I listened for the first time to Van Morrison’s rendition (with the Chieftains) of the 19th century folk song Shenandoah. Like many other things the past three weeks, it reminded me of the Academy.
From a purely cognitive standpoint, the Academy was immensely satisfying, and I will transfer a great deal of its content into my 12 sections (seriously!) of U.S. Government this year.
But it is my heart that has changed more than anything. It would be hard to describe what I mean by this, so I won’t (at least not with my own words).
Midway through the Academy, a poem by William Stafford seemed to get stuck in my head, and I’m not sure why or what it means. When I stand in its text, it doesn’t tell me anything definitive, but I feel something, and I wonder if you have had similar experiences with music, poems, personal encounters as a result of the Academy. Here is the poem by Stafford, a western (U.S.) poet, who won just about every major award a poet could win prior to his death in 1993:
Deep Light
From far a light, maybe a hill ranch
remote and unvisited, beams on the horizon
when we pass; then it is gone.
For the rest of our lives that far place
waits; it’s an increment, one more
hollow that slips by out there, almost
a gift, an acquaintance taken away.
Still, beyond all ranches the deep
night waits, breathing when we breathe,
always ready to offer new light,
over and over, so long as we search
for something so faint most people
won’t know, even when it is found.
From “Even in Quiet Places” by W. Stafford
–Larry Mutter–
I believe it just might mean the Academy is written on your heart and your mind!
I’ve mentioned before that I picked up “Cat’s Cradle” by Kurt Vonnegut on my way home from the Academy last summer. I’ve since made it through every book he wrote so there was something in his perspective that resonated with me. I think I enjoy Vonnegut’s incessant return to the questions of who we are…who do we think we are…who we are when others see us.
There are a number of excerpts I “talked” to as I read Cat’s Cradle last summer. This one asks the question of who we think we are as a people and might even have a touch of orange…
From Cat’s Cradle:
The Crosbys didn’t know Minton, but they knew his reputation. They were indignant about his appointment as Ambassador. They told me that Minton had once been fired by the State Department for his softness toward communism, and that Communist dupes or worse had him reinstated…
[when the speaker returns to his seat on the airplane next to Minton, he has overheard the conversation and responds]
“I was fired for pessimism. Communism had nothing to do with it.”
“I got him fired,” said his wife. “The only piece of real evidence produced against him was a letter I wrote to the New York Times from Pakistan.”
“What did it say?”
“It said a lot of things,” she said, “because I was very upset about how Americans couldn’t imagine what it was like to be something else, to be something else and proud of it.”
“I see.”
“But there was this one sentence they kept coming back to again and again in the loyalty hearing,” sighed Minton. “‘Americans’,” he said, quoting his wife’s letter to the Times, ‘”are forever searching for love in forms it never takes, in places it can never be. It must have something to do with the vanished frontier.’”
Whoa! Larry’s poem and Shellee’s response have me reeling… Okay, this is something I struggle with: is it our American romanticism that holds us back or drives us on?
I love Jodie Foster’s character in Contact. When she asks the aliens about our world (and America resonates more particularly) and whether it will ever emerge from its adolescence: that hits me.
Yet, there definitely has to be a youthful SPIRIT to move forward; of this, I’m sure.
We need frontiers. We need problems that we can solve. Perhaps it’s the mysteries that get us messed up. We’re not going to solve those…
Any thoughts?
So, I return to Vonnegut for a response. This time it’s from Hocus Pocus, one of his last novels…
“Another flaw in the human character is that everybody wants to build and nobody wants to do maintenance.”
Our romanticism is that youthful spirit that keeps us building. It’s also what makes the daily grind or the regular maintenance of something a real drag. A mystery like a unified theory or dark matter is as enticing as a new frontier to us.
Once it’s conquered or once it’s known, we’re looking for the next big thing. We want to be a part of it.
Wow!!! That quote was the ultimate rebuttal. Great find!
SO TRUE that no one wants to do “the regular maintenance”! Building bridges is the glamor job, but obviously we’re not doing such a great job keeping up with them when disasters likes the Minnesota collapse happen. (Could it be that we under-value bridge-inspectors/ teachers/ gardeners/ etc?)
I know building my marriage was the easy part; it’s the work that goes into the relationship which no one talks about. We’re smitten with the love story. But the illusion of love is that “goo-goo-ga-ga” romance fades.
So, how does America mature? I think it’s through Federalism that we can appreciate the work, the re-inventing! It means getting our hands dirty, returning to a spirit of invention rather than a passive reception. It’s falling in love all over again.
Hey, this Federalism is better than therapy! …How much do I owe Will?
America has been essentially adolescent at least since the 1920s: WWI shattered the old assumptions, disillusioned young and old alike, realigned political loyalties and economic priorities. We’re still in the process.
I think about the growth patterns of the teenagers in my life, trying to apply the metaphor to the nation as a whole. There are spurts, plateaus, more spurts, more plateaus. Physical and sexual development frequently don’t coincide with intellectual, social and/or emotional development. There are wide variations from one child to the next–even identical twins will differ (I had a set this past year–Daryl’s voice changed about 6 months before Dwight’s did).
Now apply these observations to our America. What do you get? Certainly not instant grown-up! Even though we’ve invented our country, we can’t change the passage of time. It may seem like 220+ years is a long time (just like to a 16-year-old, 21 is a long way away), but in the life of a nation, it isn’t. The fact that collectively we’re unaccustomed to patience is yet another sign that America is a teenager still.
Some growth will be organic, just as an adolescent’s physical and sexual maturity are organic. Some growth requires focused effort, just as we parents & teachers plan for the moral, intellectual, and social growth of the teens in our care.
I think our best hope for growth into maturity is, as K2 says, falling in love again with our Federal Republic. The thing is, it has to be lasting commitment to growth, rather than mere puppy love.
As I type, I’m also watching “What Not to Wear.” The young (23) woman being made over is having a hard time transitioning from teen to adult. Hosts Stacy & Clinton are encouraging this girl/woman to let go of the sleazy, hoochie-mama look, and to embrace her womanly beauty–youthful yet responsible–so the outside matches the inside. America needs a similar focusedly-hopeful makeover. I’m having another Federalist Moment!!! ;-D
Larry,
I know what you mean about the spiritual level of this whole experience (a whole without a soul is an oxymoron, isn’t it?). I’ve felt it too–and I think it started with Scipio’s Dream. There has been a decidedly different perspective permeating my thoughts. I’m finding it increasingly necessary to think constructively, compositionally, constitutionally in avenues of life other than history class–like I’m becoming more fully who I am….
Hi Puck, Thank you for your comments. They come almost a year from previous posts about the poem “Deep Light.” Thought that Deep Light had recessed into deep hyperspace.
I originally wrote the post out of a longing for the 2007 Academy’s community and curriculum. The longing is still there, but it was satisfied in part by the 2008 Montpelier Workshop. Obviously it was great to see you all, to make new friends (like K2, Whitt, Michael, among others), and to be around Will and the talented cast he assembles to support our learning.
Two verses of Deep Light resonate.
“For the rest of our lives that far place
waits; it’s…an acquaintance taken away.”
“…always ready to offer new light…”
The loss and light of the Academy are big themes for me. The “light” part is explicable, and as I see it there are no better words to describe it than your own:
“I’m finding it increasingly necessary to think constructively, compositionally, constitutionally in avenues of life other than history class–like I’m becoming more fully who I am….”
So thanks again, girl, for bringing me back to the Academy, and for pointing me forward. Larry
(As an aside, I am heading to the beach and will think about Keith’s/Hobbes21’s question in an above post: “Is it our American romanticism that holds us back or drives us on?”)