Yesterday I noted that men fear more what their wives fear. In thinking further about this idea, I made a connection back to something I learned from Steven Stosny last year: we get angry not to protect ourselves, but to protect our loved ones. In fact, responding to things that threaten us with anger is often more dangerous than if we ran away. We have to get angry in order to stay and fight, even if it endangers ourselves. Why would be do that? To protect our loved ones.
I usually take the world's shocks philosophically, or with sadness. The things that make me mad are more likely to be threats to my family, and by extension, my community. The same applies, I realize, to the things I fear in an emotional way. I can work around dangers to myself calmly, if they can be avoided. But I can feel fear for my children far away, because I can't work around the things that might endanger them. I have to rely on their good sense and safety-making social structures.
That men would feel fear for their loved ones more than for themselves is a corollary of the socially healthy tendency of men to protect women and children. But it also means that fearful men are more likely to damage others if they think that doing so is a righteous way to protect their loved ones.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Sex and Fear
I have been having a discussion with a friend about what we should fear from the government. I am afraid of torture, suspending habeas corpus, declaring citizens "enemy combatants," warrantless wiretaps, secret prisons, and failing to enforce securities regulations that threaten the world economy. He is worried about government health care and the car company and bank bailouts as communism, which might force armed resistance to the state. I am not here raising the merits of these fears.
Instead, I was struck by a point that he made in a recent conversation. His wife was much more worried about these things than he was. As I thought about it, several of the women in my life are more worried about the things I fear than I am.
So I had this thought. Moms worry about dangers to their families. That is part of the job. And daughters who are preparing to be moms one day can do a fair job of worrying, too. Dads protect moms and daughters. They fear things that are actually threats to their families and, by extension, their communities. Dads also worry about things that their wives are worried about because their wives are worried. If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
This is the rough thought I am working on. Much of the emotion in the various cultures of fear are driven by the good impulse of men protecting women.
Instead, I was struck by a point that he made in a recent conversation. His wife was much more worried about these things than he was. As I thought about it, several of the women in my life are more worried about the things I fear than I am.
So I had this thought. Moms worry about dangers to their families. That is part of the job. And daughters who are preparing to be moms one day can do a fair job of worrying, too. Dads protect moms and daughters. They fear things that are actually threats to their families and, by extension, their communities. Dads also worry about things that their wives are worried about because their wives are worried. If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
This is the rough thought I am working on. Much of the emotion in the various cultures of fear are driven by the good impulse of men protecting women.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Nerd Injury
Mrs. G. hurt herself. She pulled a muscle inserting a formula into 14,000 cells in an Excel spreadsheet of education data.
Friday, August 28, 2009
How the Theory Syllabus Turned Out
This summer I completely redid the Macrosociological Theory syllabus. It is very hard to make a satisfactory social theory syllabus. Social theory is mostly an informed reflection on history and philosophy. This has usually meant that I have to backfill lots of history and philosophy before we can begin the theory sequence proper. After years of good but not spectacular classes, I am trying a different tactic.
I think half of what a good undergraduate course should do is make students culturally literate about the big ideas and big authors of a field. This does not always add up to a fully integrated exposition. This time with the theory class I am going for maximal cultural literacy, even at the cost of much thematic unity. This is the Greatest Hits version. I wanted books that change people's lives. My rule of thumb was that I wanted books that had their own Wikipedia page. We are reading an author a week. This can, of course, only be an introduction to their complex thought. At the end of the term I want each student to pick one of these works to go back to and write something deeper with it.
Here are the texts, which we will read in chronological order, for Macrosociological Theory:
Karl Marx, Theses on Feuerbach (1845)
I think half of what a good undergraduate course should do is make students culturally literate about the big ideas and big authors of a field. This does not always add up to a fully integrated exposition. This time with the theory class I am going for maximal cultural literacy, even at the cost of much thematic unity. This is the Greatest Hits version. I wanted books that change people's lives. My rule of thumb was that I wanted books that had their own Wikipedia page. We are reading an author a week. This can, of course, only be an introduction to their complex thought. At the end of the term I want each student to pick one of these works to go back to and write something deeper with it.
Here are the texts, which we will read in chronological order, for Macrosociological Theory:
Karl Marx, Theses on Feuerbach (1845)
Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, The Communist Manifesto (1848)
Karl Marx, Preface to A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy (1859)
Emile Durkheim, The Division of Labor in Society (1893)
W.E.B. DuBois, The Souls of Black Folk (1903)
Max Weber, “The Protestant Sects and the Spirit of Capitalism” (1906)
Max Weber, “Science as a Vocation” (1918)
Max Weber, “Politics as a Vocation” (1919)
Karl Polanyi, The Great Transformation (1944)
Jane Jacobs, The Death and Life of the Great American Cities (1961)
Albert Hirschman, Exit, Voice, and Loyalty (1970)
Pierre Bourdieu & Jean-Claude Passeron, Reproduction in Education, Society and Culture (1970)
Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish (1975)
Jurgen Habermas, Legitimation Crisis (1975)
Edward Said, Orientalism (1978)
Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities (1983)
James Surowieki, The Wisdom of Crowds (2004)
Thursday, August 27, 2009
How Should One Respond to Ignorant Opinions Without Snark?
Snark is the lifeblood of the blogosphere. But at the Gruntled Center we promote gratitude, cheerfulness, contentment - or at least resolute civility. I really do want to find common ground with people I disagree with. And that depends on some common body of facts on which we agree, as well as opinions about them over which we might still disagree.
Other people in the public sphere, though, are met with more than differing opinions. They are met every day with angry people asserting as facts things that are just not so.
When Senator McCain, during the presidential campaign, was confronted by a woman who asserted that Barack Obama was a Muslim, he gently corrected her. She was nonplussed, but did not fight him; she was there as a McCain supporter.
By contrast, Democratic Congressman Barney Frank was confronted at a town hall meeting by a woman who accused him of supporting "this Nazi policy" - by which I think she meant the false belief that the health care proposal before Congress would force old people to accept euthanasia. Congressman Frank asked her "what planet do you normally reside on?" This was fine snark and drew a big laugh, but is clearly an ineffective way to promote civil conversation with people who are determinedly wrong.
Because people do not thank you when you point out that they have their facts all wrong. They just get mad.
Recently, Republican Congressman Bob Inglis reported that at a town-hall meeting in suburban Simpsonville, SC, a man stood up and told Congress to "keep your government hands off my Medicare." The Congressman "had to politely explain that, 'Actually, sir, your health care is being provided by the government,' " Inglis recalled. "But he wasn't having any of it."
He wasn't having any of it. How should one respond helpfully, without arrogance or condescension, in a way that actually reaches people, when they are just flat wrong?
A recent poll by Public Policy Polling tried to find out just what the "birthers" who doubt President Obama's citizenship actually believe. A quarter of the people polled did not believe that Pres. Obama was a citizen. Of that 25%, 6% - a quarter of all the birthers - knew that Obama was born in Hawaii, but did not think Hawaii was part of the United States.
I have not met a birther, or someone who believes that there will be "death panels," or someone who says "keep your government hands off my Medicare." But it is only a matter of time. (In fact, this post may bring a few out). Truly, I would welcome helpful suggestions.
Other people in the public sphere, though, are met with more than differing opinions. They are met every day with angry people asserting as facts things that are just not so.
When Senator McCain, during the presidential campaign, was confronted by a woman who asserted that Barack Obama was a Muslim, he gently corrected her. She was nonplussed, but did not fight him; she was there as a McCain supporter.
By contrast, Democratic Congressman Barney Frank was confronted at a town hall meeting by a woman who accused him of supporting "this Nazi policy" - by which I think she meant the false belief that the health care proposal before Congress would force old people to accept euthanasia. Congressman Frank asked her "what planet do you normally reside on?" This was fine snark and drew a big laugh, but is clearly an ineffective way to promote civil conversation with people who are determinedly wrong.
Because people do not thank you when you point out that they have their facts all wrong. They just get mad.
Recently, Republican Congressman Bob Inglis reported that at a town-hall meeting in suburban Simpsonville, SC, a man stood up and told Congress to "keep your government hands off my Medicare." The Congressman "had to politely explain that, 'Actually, sir, your health care is being provided by the government,' " Inglis recalled. "But he wasn't having any of it."
He wasn't having any of it. How should one respond helpfully, without arrogance or condescension, in a way that actually reaches people, when they are just flat wrong?
A recent poll by Public Policy Polling tried to find out just what the "birthers" who doubt President Obama's citizenship actually believe. A quarter of the people polled did not believe that Pres. Obama was a citizen. Of that 25%, 6% - a quarter of all the birthers - knew that Obama was born in Hawaii, but did not think Hawaii was part of the United States.
I have not met a birther, or someone who believes that there will be "death panels," or someone who says "keep your government hands off my Medicare." But it is only a matter of time. (In fact, this post may bring a few out). Truly, I would welcome helpful suggestions.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
A Centrist Lesson From Ted Kennedy
Senator Edward Kennedy died last night. He was a great liberal leader in the nation. He was also a great legislator. The practice of making legislation tends to make people act like centrists. If they do not reach across the aisle, they can make great speeches, but rarely pass anything important.
Ted Kennedy's great passion was health care for everyone in America. Early in his career he had a chance to work with President Nixon to pass national health insurance legislation. Kennedy held out for his favored plan, and health insurance for all Americans failed. Kennedy long regretted that he sacrificed the goal for ideological purity.
Centrist legislation always requires compromise with the other side. But it actually accomplishes some good things. This is true for liberals and conservatives. It is also true for centrists, who have to accept attacks on centrism from ideologues as the price for actually accomplishing something.
Ted Kennedy learned that to achieve any legislative goal, you have to plan on incremental changes over a long time. This is how we came to have Medicare, Medicaid, veteran's hospitals, Children's Health Insurance Plans in every state, universal vaccinations, smoking restrictions, drinking restrictions, clean food, air, and water regulations, seat belt laws, noise pollution laws - the hundred and one programs to make everyone's health better and their health costs shared more evenly. And we still have the most elaborate variety and highest quality of fancy health care in the world, though one could not call that a system. All of this was achieved in centrist increments. Some on the right denounce this a creeping socialism, and some on the left denounce it as Big Brother, but few of them actually want to give up the benefits of better health and better health care.
Centrists owe a great debt to Ted Kennedy for his long-term commitment to incremental achievements for a larger social goal.
Ted Kennedy's great passion was health care for everyone in America. Early in his career he had a chance to work with President Nixon to pass national health insurance legislation. Kennedy held out for his favored plan, and health insurance for all Americans failed. Kennedy long regretted that he sacrificed the goal for ideological purity.
Centrist legislation always requires compromise with the other side. But it actually accomplishes some good things. This is true for liberals and conservatives. It is also true for centrists, who have to accept attacks on centrism from ideologues as the price for actually accomplishing something.
Ted Kennedy learned that to achieve any legislative goal, you have to plan on incremental changes over a long time. This is how we came to have Medicare, Medicaid, veteran's hospitals, Children's Health Insurance Plans in every state, universal vaccinations, smoking restrictions, drinking restrictions, clean food, air, and water regulations, seat belt laws, noise pollution laws - the hundred and one programs to make everyone's health better and their health costs shared more evenly. And we still have the most elaborate variety and highest quality of fancy health care in the world, though one could not call that a system. All of this was achieved in centrist increments. Some on the right denounce this a creeping socialism, and some on the left denounce it as Big Brother, but few of them actually want to give up the benefits of better health and better health care.
Centrists owe a great debt to Ted Kennedy for his long-term commitment to incremental achievements for a larger social goal.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Capon Springs
My family has its annual reunion at lovely Capon Springs and Farms in West Virginia this week, as we have since the '60s.
See you in a week!
See you in a week!
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
Waiting Out "I Don't Love You; I Never Did"
Laura Munson has an excellent "Modern Love" column in the New York Times. I can't get the link to work, so I am pasting the whole thing in, below.
The main point is that the author calmly outlasted her husband's out-of-the-blue "I don't love you" claim. She saw that his problem was not really with her, but with his own feelings of failure, mostly as a provider. She and the children gave him some space within the marriage and within their home for as long as he needed it. Read on for the inspiring outcome.
Modern Love
Those Aren't Fighting Words, Dear
By LAURA A. MUNSON
July 31, 2009
LET'S say you have what you believe to be a healthy marriage. You're still friends and lovers after spending more than half of your lives together. The dreams you set out to achieve in your 20s - gazing into each other's eyes in candlelit city bistros when you were single and skinny - have for the most part come true.
Two decades later you have the 20 acres of land, the farmhouse, the children, the dogs and horses. You're the parents you said you would be, full of love and guidance. You've done it all: Disneyland, camping, Hawaii, Mexico, city living, stargazing.
Sure, you have your marital issues, but on the whole you feel so self-satisfied about how things have worked out that you would never, in your wildest nightmares, think you would hear these words from your husband one fine summer day: "I don't love you anymore. I'm not sure I ever did. I'm moving out. The kids will understand. They'll want me to be happy."
But wait. This isn't the divorce story you think it is. Neither is it a begging-him-to-stay story. It's a story about hearing your husband say "I don't love you anymore" and deciding not to believe him. And what can happen as a result.
Here's a visual: Child throws a temper tantrum. Tries to hit his mother. But the mother doesn't hit back, lecture or punish. Instead, she ducks. Then she tries to go about her business as if the tantrum isn't happening. She doesn't "reward" the tantrum. She simply doesn't take the tantrum personally because, after all, it's not about her.
Let me be clear: I'm not saying my husband was throwing a child's tantrum. No. He was in the grip of something else - a profound and far more troubling meltdown that comes not in childhood but in midlife, when we perceive that our personal trajectory is no longer arcing reliably upward as it once did. But I decided to respond the same way I'd responded to my children's tantrums. And I kept responding to it that way. For four months.
"I don't love you anymore. I'm not sure I ever did."
His words came at me like a speeding fist, like a sucker punch, yet somehow in that moment I was able to duck. And once I recovered and composed myself, I managed to say, "I don't buy it." Because I didn't.
He drew back in surprise. Apparently he'd expected me to burst into tears, to rage at him, to threaten him with a custody battle. Or beg him to change his mind.
So he turned mean. "I don't like what you've become."
Gut-wrenching pause. How could he say such a thing? That's when I really wanted to fight. To rage. To cry. But I didn't.
Instead, a shroud of calm enveloped me, and I repeated those words: "I don't buy it."
You see, I'd recently committed to a non-negotiable understanding with myself. I'd committed to "The End of Suffering." I'd finally managed to exile the voices in my head that told me my personal happiness was only as good as my outward success, rooted in things that were often outside my control. I'd seen the insanity of that equation and decided to take responsibility for my own happiness. And I mean all of it.
My husband hadn't yet come to this understanding with himself. He had enjoyed many years of hard work, and its rewards had supported our family of four all along. But his new endeavor hadn't been going so well, and his ability to be the breadwinner was in rapid decline. He'd been miserable about this, felt useless, was losing himself emotionally and letting himself go physically. And now he wanted out of our marriage; to be done with our family.
But I wasn't buying it.
I said: "It's not age-appropriate to expect children to be concerned with their parents' happiness. Not unless you want to create co-dependents who'll spend their lives in bad relationships and therapy. There are times in every relationship when the parties involved need a break. What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?"
"Huh?" he said.
"Go trekking in Nepal. Build a yurt in the back meadow. Turn the garage studio into a man-cave. Get that drum set you've always wanted. Anything but hurting the children and me with a reckless move like the one you're talking about."
Then I repeated my line, "What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?"
"Huh?"
"How can we have a responsible distance?"
"I don't want distance," he said. "I want to move out."
My mind raced. Was it another woman? Drugs? Unconscionable secrets? But I stopped myself. I would not suffer.
Instead, I went to my desk, Googled "responsible separation" and came up with a list. It included things like: Who's allowed to use what credit cards? Who are the children allowed to see you with in town? Who's allowed keys to what?
I looked through the list and passed it on to him.
His response: "Keys? We don't even have keys to our house."
I remained stoic. I could see pain in his eyes. Pain I recognized.
"Oh, I see what you're doing," he said. "You're going to make me go into therapy. You're not going to let me move out. You're going to use the kids against me."
"I never said that. I just asked: What can we do to give you the distance you need ... "
"Stop saying that!"
Well, he didn't move out.
Instead, he spent the summer being unreliable. He stopped coming home at his usual six o'clock. He would stay out late and not call. He blew off our entire Fourth of July - the parade, the barbecue, the fireworks - to go to someone else's party. When he was at home, he was distant. He wouldn't look me in the eye. He didn't even wish me "Happy Birthday."
But I didn't play into it. I walked my line. I told the kids: "Daddy's having a hard time as adults often do. But we're a family, no matter what." I was not going to suffer. And neither were they.
MY trusted friends were irate on my behalf. "How can you just stand by and accept this behavior? Kick him out! Get a lawyer!"
I walked my line with them, too. This man was hurting, yet his problem wasn't mine to solve. In fact, I needed to get out of his way so he could solve it.
I know what you're thinking: I'm a pushover. I'm weak and scared and would put up with anything to keep the family together. I'm probably one of those women who would endure physical abuse. But I can assure you, I'm not. I load 1,500-pound horses into trailers and gallop through the high country of Montana all summer. I went through Pitocin-induced natural childbirth. And a Caesarean section without follow-up drugs. I am handy with a chain saw.
I simply had come to understand that I was not at the root of my husband's problem. He was. If he could turn his problem into a marital fight, he could make it about us. I needed to get out of the way so that wouldn't happen.
Privately, I decided to give him time. Six months.
I had good days, and I had bad days. On the good days, I took the high road. I ignored his lashing out, his merciless jabs. On bad days, I would fester in the August sun while the kids ran through sprinklers, raging at him in my mind. But I never wavered. Although it may sound ridiculous to say "Don't take it personally" when your husband tells you he no longer loves you,
sometimes that's exactly what you have to do.
Instead of issuing ultimatums, yelling, crying or begging, I presented him with options. I created a summer of fun for our family and welcomed him to share in it, or not - it was up to him. If he chose not to come along, we would miss him, but we would be just fine, thank you very much. And we were.
And, yeah, you can bet I wanted to sit him down and persuade him to stay. To love me. To fight for what we've created. You can bet I wanted to.
But I didn't.
I barbecued. Made lemonade. Set the table for four. Loved him from afar.
And one day, there he was, home from work early, mowing the lawn. A man doesn't mow his lawn if he's going to leave it. Not this man. Then he fixed a door that had been broken for eight years. He made a comment about our front porch needing paint. Our front porch. He mentioned needing wood for next winter. The future. Little by little, he started talking about the
future.
It was Thanksgiving dinner that sealed it. My husband bowed his head humbly and said, "I'm thankful for my family."
He was back.
And I saw what had been missing: pride. He'd lost pride in himself. Maybe that's what happens when our egos take a hit in midlife and we realize we're not as young and golden anymore.
When life's knocked us around. And our childhood myths reveal themselves to be just that. The truth feels like the biggest sucker-punch of them all: it's not a spouse or land or a job or money that brings us happiness. Those achievements, those relationships, can enhance our happiness, yes, but happiness has to start from within. Relying on any other equation can be
lethal.
My husband had become lost in the myth. But he found his way out. We've since had the hard conversations. In fact, he encouraged me to write about our ordeal. To help other couples who arrive at this juncture in life. People who feel scared and stuck. Who believe their temporary feelings are permanent. Who see an easy out, and think they can escape.
My husband tried to strike a deal. Blame me for his pain. Unload his feelings of personal disgrace onto me.
But I ducked. And I waited. And it worked.
The main point is that the author calmly outlasted her husband's out-of-the-blue "I don't love you" claim. She saw that his problem was not really with her, but with his own feelings of failure, mostly as a provider. She and the children gave him some space within the marriage and within their home for as long as he needed it. Read on for the inspiring outcome.
Modern Love
Those Aren't Fighting Words, Dear
By LAURA A. MUNSON
July 31, 2009
LET'S say you have what you believe to be a healthy marriage. You're still friends and lovers after spending more than half of your lives together. The dreams you set out to achieve in your 20s - gazing into each other's eyes in candlelit city bistros when you were single and skinny - have for the most part come true.
Two decades later you have the 20 acres of land, the farmhouse, the children, the dogs and horses. You're the parents you said you would be, full of love and guidance. You've done it all: Disneyland, camping, Hawaii, Mexico, city living, stargazing.
Sure, you have your marital issues, but on the whole you feel so self-satisfied about how things have worked out that you would never, in your wildest nightmares, think you would hear these words from your husband one fine summer day: "I don't love you anymore. I'm not sure I ever did. I'm moving out. The kids will understand. They'll want me to be happy."
But wait. This isn't the divorce story you think it is. Neither is it a begging-him-to-stay story. It's a story about hearing your husband say "I don't love you anymore" and deciding not to believe him. And what can happen as a result.
Here's a visual: Child throws a temper tantrum. Tries to hit his mother. But the mother doesn't hit back, lecture or punish. Instead, she ducks. Then she tries to go about her business as if the tantrum isn't happening. She doesn't "reward" the tantrum. She simply doesn't take the tantrum personally because, after all, it's not about her.
Let me be clear: I'm not saying my husband was throwing a child's tantrum. No. He was in the grip of something else - a profound and far more troubling meltdown that comes not in childhood but in midlife, when we perceive that our personal trajectory is no longer arcing reliably upward as it once did. But I decided to respond the same way I'd responded to my children's tantrums. And I kept responding to it that way. For four months.
"I don't love you anymore. I'm not sure I ever did."
His words came at me like a speeding fist, like a sucker punch, yet somehow in that moment I was able to duck. And once I recovered and composed myself, I managed to say, "I don't buy it." Because I didn't.
He drew back in surprise. Apparently he'd expected me to burst into tears, to rage at him, to threaten him with a custody battle. Or beg him to change his mind.
So he turned mean. "I don't like what you've become."
Gut-wrenching pause. How could he say such a thing? That's when I really wanted to fight. To rage. To cry. But I didn't.
Instead, a shroud of calm enveloped me, and I repeated those words: "I don't buy it."
You see, I'd recently committed to a non-negotiable understanding with myself. I'd committed to "The End of Suffering." I'd finally managed to exile the voices in my head that told me my personal happiness was only as good as my outward success, rooted in things that were often outside my control. I'd seen the insanity of that equation and decided to take responsibility for my own happiness. And I mean all of it.
My husband hadn't yet come to this understanding with himself. He had enjoyed many years of hard work, and its rewards had supported our family of four all along. But his new endeavor hadn't been going so well, and his ability to be the breadwinner was in rapid decline. He'd been miserable about this, felt useless, was losing himself emotionally and letting himself go physically. And now he wanted out of our marriage; to be done with our family.
But I wasn't buying it.
I said: "It's not age-appropriate to expect children to be concerned with their parents' happiness. Not unless you want to create co-dependents who'll spend their lives in bad relationships and therapy. There are times in every relationship when the parties involved need a break. What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?"
"Huh?" he said.
"Go trekking in Nepal. Build a yurt in the back meadow. Turn the garage studio into a man-cave. Get that drum set you've always wanted. Anything but hurting the children and me with a reckless move like the one you're talking about."
Then I repeated my line, "What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?"
"Huh?"
"How can we have a responsible distance?"
"I don't want distance," he said. "I want to move out."
My mind raced. Was it another woman? Drugs? Unconscionable secrets? But I stopped myself. I would not suffer.
Instead, I went to my desk, Googled "responsible separation" and came up with a list. It included things like: Who's allowed to use what credit cards? Who are the children allowed to see you with in town? Who's allowed keys to what?
I looked through the list and passed it on to him.
His response: "Keys? We don't even have keys to our house."
I remained stoic. I could see pain in his eyes. Pain I recognized.
"Oh, I see what you're doing," he said. "You're going to make me go into therapy. You're not going to let me move out. You're going to use the kids against me."
"I never said that. I just asked: What can we do to give you the distance you need ... "
"Stop saying that!"
Well, he didn't move out.
Instead, he spent the summer being unreliable. He stopped coming home at his usual six o'clock. He would stay out late and not call. He blew off our entire Fourth of July - the parade, the barbecue, the fireworks - to go to someone else's party. When he was at home, he was distant. He wouldn't look me in the eye. He didn't even wish me "Happy Birthday."
But I didn't play into it. I walked my line. I told the kids: "Daddy's having a hard time as adults often do. But we're a family, no matter what." I was not going to suffer. And neither were they.
MY trusted friends were irate on my behalf. "How can you just stand by and accept this behavior? Kick him out! Get a lawyer!"
I walked my line with them, too. This man was hurting, yet his problem wasn't mine to solve. In fact, I needed to get out of his way so he could solve it.
I know what you're thinking: I'm a pushover. I'm weak and scared and would put up with anything to keep the family together. I'm probably one of those women who would endure physical abuse. But I can assure you, I'm not. I load 1,500-pound horses into trailers and gallop through the high country of Montana all summer. I went through Pitocin-induced natural childbirth. And a Caesarean section without follow-up drugs. I am handy with a chain saw.
I simply had come to understand that I was not at the root of my husband's problem. He was. If he could turn his problem into a marital fight, he could make it about us. I needed to get out of the way so that wouldn't happen.
Privately, I decided to give him time. Six months.
I had good days, and I had bad days. On the good days, I took the high road. I ignored his lashing out, his merciless jabs. On bad days, I would fester in the August sun while the kids ran through sprinklers, raging at him in my mind. But I never wavered. Although it may sound ridiculous to say "Don't take it personally" when your husband tells you he no longer loves you,
sometimes that's exactly what you have to do.
Instead of issuing ultimatums, yelling, crying or begging, I presented him with options. I created a summer of fun for our family and welcomed him to share in it, or not - it was up to him. If he chose not to come along, we would miss him, but we would be just fine, thank you very much. And we were.
And, yeah, you can bet I wanted to sit him down and persuade him to stay. To love me. To fight for what we've created. You can bet I wanted to.
But I didn't.
I barbecued. Made lemonade. Set the table for four. Loved him from afar.
And one day, there he was, home from work early, mowing the lawn. A man doesn't mow his lawn if he's going to leave it. Not this man. Then he fixed a door that had been broken for eight years. He made a comment about our front porch needing paint. Our front porch. He mentioned needing wood for next winter. The future. Little by little, he started talking about the
future.
It was Thanksgiving dinner that sealed it. My husband bowed his head humbly and said, "I'm thankful for my family."
He was back.
And I saw what had been missing: pride. He'd lost pride in himself. Maybe that's what happens when our egos take a hit in midlife and we realize we're not as young and golden anymore.
When life's knocked us around. And our childhood myths reveal themselves to be just that. The truth feels like the biggest sucker-punch of them all: it's not a spouse or land or a job or money that brings us happiness. Those achievements, those relationships, can enhance our happiness, yes, but happiness has to start from within. Relying on any other equation can be
lethal.
My husband had become lost in the myth. But he found his way out. We've since had the hard conversations. In fact, he encouraged me to write about our ordeal. To help other couples who arrive at this juncture in life. People who feel scared and stuck. Who believe their temporary feelings are permanent. Who see an easy out, and think they can escape.
My husband tried to strike a deal. Blame me for his pain. Unload his feelings of personal disgrace onto me.
But I ducked. And I waited. And it worked.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The ASA is Instructive and Alienating
Final reflections on the American Sociological Association meeting.
I always learn things at the ASA. I can't say that I have ever enjoyed it, though.
I find it alienating. The conference is overwhelmingly for researchers, either professors or graduate students. This time there seemed to be even fewer people from small colleges than in the past. Conversations about teaching at the ASA tend to be as much about how to avoid doing it as about how best to do it.
I also find the assumed leftism and assumed secularity wearing. Not oppressive, just a constant reminder that I am guest in someone else's ideology.
Still, there are many smart people presenting empirical research about interesting things. And for people fully integrated into the ASA there are all kinds of research, job, and social networks formed there. I have a network of friends made elsewhere who I like to meet at the conference, including a growing list of former students. But I am do research slowly, as a teacher must, so I am rarely in a position to jump in to ongoing projects.
Still, the ASA is not really meant for my kind. I am happy to let an interval of years go by between visits.
I always learn things at the ASA. I can't say that I have ever enjoyed it, though.
I find it alienating. The conference is overwhelmingly for researchers, either professors or graduate students. This time there seemed to be even fewer people from small colleges than in the past. Conversations about teaching at the ASA tend to be as much about how to avoid doing it as about how best to do it.
I also find the assumed leftism and assumed secularity wearing. Not oppressive, just a constant reminder that I am guest in someone else's ideology.
Still, there are many smart people presenting empirical research about interesting things. And for people fully integrated into the ASA there are all kinds of research, job, and social networks formed there. I have a network of friends made elsewhere who I like to meet at the conference, including a growing list of former students. But I am do research slowly, as a teacher must, so I am rarely in a position to jump in to ongoing projects.
Still, the ASA is not really meant for my kind. I am happy to let an interval of years go by between visits.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Cosmopolitanization
Dispatches from the American Sociological Association meeting.
In the last session on the last day of the meeting they brought out the big guns. Ulrich Beck had been invited to come from Germany for his first ASA to give a thematic address (fancy session in the big ballroom). Saskia Sassen and Myra Marx Feree, no lightweights, gave the responses.
Beck is best known for arguing that we now live in "risk societies" in which we anticipate catastrophes, such as global warming and terrorism. Now he is developing the notion that globalization is turning the various risk societies of the world into a larger, transnational unit. He does not think humanity is realizing the high-brow ideal of cosmopolitanism. Rather, he thinks there are many low-level processes that are producing a practical cosmopolitanization.
This is an interesting idea, especially because it leads to more practical kinds of empirical sociological study than the search for cosmopolitans does.
After the back and forth with the panelists and the audience, it became clear that Beck had the ongoing experience of creating a transnational Europe out of the many formerly feuding nations as his model of practical cosmopolitanization. I think he is right about Europe. I don't know how well it translates to anywhere else yet.
Still, worth staying to the end for.
In the last session on the last day of the meeting they brought out the big guns. Ulrich Beck had been invited to come from Germany for his first ASA to give a thematic address (fancy session in the big ballroom). Saskia Sassen and Myra Marx Feree, no lightweights, gave the responses.
Beck is best known for arguing that we now live in "risk societies" in which we anticipate catastrophes, such as global warming and terrorism. Now he is developing the notion that globalization is turning the various risk societies of the world into a larger, transnational unit. He does not think humanity is realizing the high-brow ideal of cosmopolitanism. Rather, he thinks there are many low-level processes that are producing a practical cosmopolitanization.
This is an interesting idea, especially because it leads to more practical kinds of empirical sociological study than the search for cosmopolitans does.
After the back and forth with the panelists and the audience, it became clear that Beck had the ongoing experience of creating a transnational Europe out of the many formerly feuding nations as his model of practical cosmopolitanization. I think he is right about Europe. I don't know how well it translates to anywhere else yet.
Still, worth staying to the end for.
Monday, August 10, 2009
National Curriculum and School Achievement
Dispatches from the American Sociological Association meeting.
Stephanie Arnett, a fine young sociologist at Tulane (and a Centre graduate) reported that tracking in school increases the difference in achievement between richer and poorer kids. This is not a surprise. But she also found, in her massive 29-country comparison of school policy and students' achievement, that having a national curriculum significantly closes the gap in achievement between richer and poorer kids.
The idea of a national curriculum is so foreign to Americans that we don't even test for what it might do. We do, however, have the bases for a state curriculum in some states, such as Kentucky. We have been working in Kentucky to lift everyone's achievement on the core curriculum. We have also been working to close the gap between richer and poorer kids. Using the former as a tool to achieve the latter is a structural force I had not fully appreciated before.
Stephanie Arnett, a fine young sociologist at Tulane (and a Centre graduate) reported that tracking in school increases the difference in achievement between richer and poorer kids. This is not a surprise. But she also found, in her massive 29-country comparison of school policy and students' achievement, that having a national curriculum significantly closes the gap in achievement between richer and poorer kids.
The idea of a national curriculum is so foreign to Americans that we don't even test for what it might do. We do, however, have the bases for a state curriculum in some states, such as Kentucky. We have been working in Kentucky to lift everyone's achievement on the core curriculum. We have also been working to close the gap between richer and poorer kids. Using the former as a tool to achieve the latter is a structural force I had not fully appreciated before.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
In the Church of Gender
From the American Sociological Association meeting in San Francisco.
I have been attending sessions about work and family balance. The people who do the research and the people in the audience, most of whom are also doing similar research, tend overwhelmingly to be mothers. I went to a packed house session in which one of the women on the panel said she was glad to see more than a smattering of men. I counted 5 out of about 80.
One very interesting panel was an "author meets critics" session for Pamela Stone's Opting Out? Why Women Really Quit Careers and Are Heading Home. She studied highly educated moms in high-powered careers who left or scaled back those careers and spent more time raising their kids. Stone started her research before Lisa Belkin's New York Times article, famous in family research circles, started a media discussion about the "Opt-Out Revolution." By the time Stone was ready to publish, though, the moment was ripe for a sociological study to go beyond the journalism.
The thesis on the "opt out" side is that many women choose to suspend or give up high-powered careers to put that same energy into raising their children. The counter-thesis of this session was that women really wanted to stay in high-powered, time-demanding careers, but the inflexible structures of work and the unwillingness of husbands to scale back their demanding careers forced these women off the CEO track.
The first critic set the tone. This is not really an author meets critics session, she said, but author meets admirers. And she pronounced the litany:
gender differences are socially constructed;
Men and women want high-powered, demanding careers equally;
Women do not approach parenting differently than men;
The differences we see are not due to choice but social structure (and sometimes male selfishness).
Each speaker in turn recited the litany. Yet the empirical material they recounted, from their own research, from what their students told them, from their own experience as mothers, and even from the material in Stone's book, started to tell another story. Yes, social structure matters. Yes it is hard to manage parenting and a demanding job. But many of the women did, in fact, want to be home raising their kids more than they wanted to give all their time to the job. And few of the men they were married to felt the same way, though they supported their wives' choices either way. There probably isn't an opt-out revolution, but for women whose families make enough to let them scale back work for kids, many want to. They want to raise their kids themselves and not hire other people to do it. They do believe in "intensive mothering." Some of them don't even feel torn about it, but rather think that raising their kids is a good use of their fancy education and experience.
This evidence was dealt with in a revealing way: women who thought they were choosing motherhood over career because they wanted to were really just socialized to think that. And men who thought think they are being good fathers and husbands by working more to support their families, they have just been socialized wrong, too.
I have been attending sessions about work and family balance. The people who do the research and the people in the audience, most of whom are also doing similar research, tend overwhelmingly to be mothers. I went to a packed house session in which one of the women on the panel said she was glad to see more than a smattering of men. I counted 5 out of about 80.
One very interesting panel was an "author meets critics" session for Pamela Stone's Opting Out? Why Women Really Quit Careers and Are Heading Home. She studied highly educated moms in high-powered careers who left or scaled back those careers and spent more time raising their kids. Stone started her research before Lisa Belkin's New York Times article, famous in family research circles, started a media discussion about the "Opt-Out Revolution." By the time Stone was ready to publish, though, the moment was ripe for a sociological study to go beyond the journalism.
The thesis on the "opt out" side is that many women choose to suspend or give up high-powered careers to put that same energy into raising their children. The counter-thesis of this session was that women really wanted to stay in high-powered, time-demanding careers, but the inflexible structures of work and the unwillingness of husbands to scale back their demanding careers forced these women off the CEO track.
The first critic set the tone. This is not really an author meets critics session, she said, but author meets admirers. And she pronounced the litany:
gender differences are socially constructed;
Men and women want high-powered, demanding careers equally;
Women do not approach parenting differently than men;
The differences we see are not due to choice but social structure (and sometimes male selfishness).
Each speaker in turn recited the litany. Yet the empirical material they recounted, from their own research, from what their students told them, from their own experience as mothers, and even from the material in Stone's book, started to tell another story. Yes, social structure matters. Yes it is hard to manage parenting and a demanding job. But many of the women did, in fact, want to be home raising their kids more than they wanted to give all their time to the job. And few of the men they were married to felt the same way, though they supported their wives' choices either way. There probably isn't an opt-out revolution, but for women whose families make enough to let them scale back work for kids, many want to. They want to raise their kids themselves and not hire other people to do it. They do believe in "intensive mothering." Some of them don't even feel torn about it, but rather think that raising their kids is a good use of their fancy education and experience.
This evidence was dealt with in a revealing way: women who thought they were choosing motherhood over career because they wanted to were really just socialized to think that. And men who thought think they are being good fathers and husbands by working more to support their families, they have just been socialized wrong, too.
Saturday, August 08, 2009
License Plate + Car Make Wit
My witty cousin used to drive a LIFEZA Cabriolet.
I am staying with her and just saw her new license-plate-plus-car-make: MINDOVR Miata.
I am staying with her and just saw her new license-plate-plus-car-make: MINDOVR Miata.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
A Secular Age 10
From the Theory Camp discussion of Charles Taylor's A Secular Age.
Taylor ends the book with "Conversions." This was a little disconcerting, as we expected him to offer a more programmatic statement of how to deal with the dilemmas of transcendence and immanence in modernity. Instead he took a few "itineraries" of changed lives as models. In particular, he takes Charles Péguy and Gerard Manley Hopkins as cases. These were not familiar cases to the students, so they did not leap out as helpful models. Nonetheless, Taylor drew a useful story from their lives.
I came to see why he ended with the lives of converts. He made a crucial point at the outset of the book that most people choose their position on the transcendence/immanence (or supernatural/natural) spectrum not because they were convinced by a rational argument, but because they were impressed with some one's or some group's way of living out their convictions. In the end, then, what he needs to show us are the narratives of exemplary people, rather than a philosophical program. And the great advantage of converts' narratives is that they choose one way versus another for a reason. And intellectual converts are most useful of all as examples because they choose one path versus another for a reason that they can articulate, write down, and pass on to others.
Taylor's position - a high-brow orthodox Catholicism - is a sophisticated one, making its way between the horns of several hoary dilemmas. The pool of sophisticated, high-brow, orthodox Catholic converts who left helpful written records of their personal itinerary is rather select. Taylor gives us the best-known people he could find, even if few students know who they are.
Taylor ends the book with "Conversions." This was a little disconcerting, as we expected him to offer a more programmatic statement of how to deal with the dilemmas of transcendence and immanence in modernity. Instead he took a few "itineraries" of changed lives as models. In particular, he takes Charles Péguy and Gerard Manley Hopkins as cases. These were not familiar cases to the students, so they did not leap out as helpful models. Nonetheless, Taylor drew a useful story from their lives.
I came to see why he ended with the lives of converts. He made a crucial point at the outset of the book that most people choose their position on the transcendence/immanence (or supernatural/natural) spectrum not because they were convinced by a rational argument, but because they were impressed with some one's or some group's way of living out their convictions. In the end, then, what he needs to show us are the narratives of exemplary people, rather than a philosophical program. And the great advantage of converts' narratives is that they choose one way versus another for a reason. And intellectual converts are most useful of all as examples because they choose one path versus another for a reason that they can articulate, write down, and pass on to others.
Taylor's position - a high-brow orthodox Catholicism - is a sophisticated one, making its way between the horns of several hoary dilemmas. The pool of sophisticated, high-brow, orthodox Catholic converts who left helpful written records of their personal itinerary is rather select. Taylor gives us the best-known people he could find, even if few students know who they are.
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
A Secular Age 9
From the Theory Camp discussion of Charles Taylor's A Secular Age.
Taylor offers a succinct critique of Unitarianism, as it was originally developed (it is a little different now):
We take the crucifixion out of Christ’s story, turning him into a teacher.
BUT then his sacrifice is meaningless, which is worse.
Taylor offers a succinct critique of Unitarianism, as it was originally developed (it is a little different now):
We take the crucifixion out of Christ’s story, turning him into a teacher.
BUT then his sacrifice is meaningless, which is worse.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
A Secular Age 8
From the Theory Camp discussion of Charles Taylor's A Secular Age.
Charles Taylor spends much of the book considering the opposition between transcendental and immanent worldviews, which mostly boils down to Christianity vs. secular humanism. One of the most interesting points he makes is that we tend to choose these worldviews not because we are convinced by arguments for one side or the other. Instead, we are drawn to these positions for ethical reasons - what kind of life would I lead if I adopted one view or the other? What kind of life do people live who have already adopted one view or the other? We look at the narrative that each position would make in our lives. Then we consider arguments. And often we convince ourselves that the arguments were the reason we adopted the worldview in the first place.
One major story that atheists tell for being atheists is that "science disproves God." Really, though, Taylor argues, it is the moral authority of exclusive (atheistic) humanism that makes people think that they were made atheists by science. Science, by its very premises, could neither prove nor disprove God. The appealing atheist story is a narrative of coming of age, becoming mature.
Monday, August 03, 2009
A Secular Age 7
From the Theory Camp discussion of Charles Taylor's A Secular Age.
Taylor says that the early modern era created several spheres for popular action separate from the state: the economy, the public sphere, and the sovereign people. The more recent turn of events since the 1960s, which some call post-modern, has introduced a "fourth structure of simultaneity": the space of fashion. He describes this space as an example of the fourth structure, but he does not give any other examples, so I am not sure what else goes in this category.
In any case, he says the the space of fashion is "a horizontal, simultaneous mutual presence, which is not that of common action, but rather of mutual display. It matters to each one of us as we act that the others are there, as witness of what we are doing, and thus co-determiners of the meaning of our action.” (481)
All four of these structure are arenas for determining the popular will. They are also powerful forces in shaping the popular will. The sovereign people vote with their votes; the public sphere votes in opinion polls; the people in the market vote with their wallets. In the space of fashion the many individual acts of mutual regard and influence, of making and reading and reacting to personal style, vote in what is fashionable.
What makes this new arena of the social imaginary different is that style and expression are made at a very low level, at the level of individuals or close to it. Taylor thinks that the economy, public sphere, and popular sovereignty were products of the era of mass mobilization. The space of fashion, on the other hand, is a product of the current era of personal authenticity.
Taylor says that the early modern era created several spheres for popular action separate from the state: the economy, the public sphere, and the sovereign people. The more recent turn of events since the 1960s, which some call post-modern, has introduced a "fourth structure of simultaneity": the space of fashion. He describes this space as an example of the fourth structure, but he does not give any other examples, so I am not sure what else goes in this category.
In any case, he says the the space of fashion is "a horizontal, simultaneous mutual presence, which is not that of common action, but rather of mutual display. It matters to each one of us as we act that the others are there, as witness of what we are doing, and thus co-determiners of the meaning of our action.” (481)
All four of these structure are arenas for determining the popular will. They are also powerful forces in shaping the popular will. The sovereign people vote with their votes; the public sphere votes in opinion polls; the people in the market vote with their wallets. In the space of fashion the many individual acts of mutual regard and influence, of making and reading and reacting to personal style, vote in what is fashionable.
What makes this new arena of the social imaginary different is that style and expression are made at a very low level, at the level of individuals or close to it. Taylor thinks that the economy, public sphere, and popular sovereignty were products of the era of mass mobilization. The space of fashion, on the other hand, is a product of the current era of personal authenticity.
Sunday, August 02, 2009
A Secular Age 6
From the Theory Camp discussion of Charles Taylor's A Secular Age.
Charles Taylor has a fine discussion of the incoherence of materialist ethics.
“There seems to be a strange inference here, caricatured by Solovyov: ‘Man descends from the apes, therefore we must love each other.’” (596)
Charles Taylor has a fine discussion of the incoherence of materialist ethics.
“There seems to be a strange inference here, caricatured by Solovyov: ‘Man descends from the apes, therefore we must love each other.’” (596)
Saturday, August 01, 2009
A Secular Age - Transformed!
We have been reading A Secular Age in Theory Camp this week. One of our number noted that an important theme of the book is how one age was transformed into something quite different. So he got us all Transformers stickers to annotate our books with.
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