The Golden Day: A Study in American Literature & Culture by Lewis Mumford

Originally published in 1926 with a new forward by the author in 1957

For the Fourth of July each year I select a work in American history or culture to mark the occasion. This year in a bit of serendipity, I spied this work as I unpacked a box of books that I'd hastily assembled as a part of our move out West. When I pulled this book our of the box on about July 3, I knew that I had my reading for this year.

The Golden Day: A Study in American Literature and Culture was originally published in 1926 by a young Lewis Mumford. Many today won't recognize his name, but from the 1920s to the 1980s, he was one of America's leading public intellectuals. (He died at age 94 in 1990.) In fact, to describe Mumford is to encounter a quandary. How exactly to describe him? In The Golden Day, he's a literary critic and historian of American literature, but these fields are only two of the many fields that he wrote about. Wikipedia describes Mumford as "an American historian, sociologist, philosopher of technology, and literary critic. Particularly noted for his study of cities and urban architecture, he had a broad career as a writer. Mumford made signal contributions to social philosophy, American literary and cultural history and the history of technology."  This comes closer, but the breadth of Mumford's interests and knowledge is truly astonishing. And, I should note, he published all of his many books without having finished his college degree! (His education was interrupted by illness and then service in World War I.) 

In The Golden Day, Mumford focuses on American literature and philosophical thought as a way of apprehending the American experiment. Mumford's contemporary and compatriot, Van Wyck Brooks, was working much the same project at the time, as well.) In fact, as a part of his project, Mumford played a major role in delivering Herman Melville's literary works--such as Moby Dick--from the obscurity into which these works had fallen. Melville and his pre-Civil War contemporaries provide the foundation of this work. But while Emerson, Thoreau, Whitman, Melville, and Hawthorne provide the foundation of the work--the Golden Day--this isn't where Mumford begins his assessment of American culture. Mumford begins his examination with the advent of modernity, which coincided with the European discovery and colonization of the Americas. Protestantism (especially the Puritan variety at the beginning and evangelical Christianity later), capitalism, and later industrialism, along with the existence of the frontier until late into the 19th-century,  all shape American culture. But until the Golden Day, the literature of a nascent nation was not especially noteworthy (with some exceptions, such as the last great Puritan divine, Jonathan Edwards). But starting with James Fenimore Cooper's work exploring the early (eastern) frontier and its challenges and conflicts his works explored, we begin to see American literature form into more familiar themes. This momentum gains a full head of steam with Emerson, whom Mumford holds in the highest regard. Indeed, although I don't believe that he stated it specifically, I contend that Mumford considers Emerson the foundation stone of American literature and high culture. 

Of course, in the pre-Civil War era, Emerson was not alone. His younger contemporary and friend  Henry David Thoreau was an active and outspoken voice, as was the great bard of democracy and America, Walt Whitman. Rounding out this core is Melville and Nathaniel Hawthorne, who's most famous for The Scarlett Letter.  (As I noted earlier, Melville's work had fallen into obscurity by Mumford's time, and Melville had never gained the esteem and notoriety of his great contemporaries described here.) Mumford carefully considers each writer's contributions and perspectives. And I should hasten to add that in addition to cataloging and noting the contribution of each of these figures, Mumford also provides insightful criticism. He not only provides a tour of the wine cellar and catalogues the various vintages, but he beautifully describes and critiques them as well.

The Civil War provides the key turning point in the life of the nation. The vanquishing of the slave-holding South and the triumph of the North with its industrialism, along with the settlement of the Mountain West, turn America in a different direction. Mumford perhaps under-appreciates or under-emphasizes the economics of both the plantation system of the South and its effects on the American scene even after the defeat of the Confederacy. But he does turn a keen eye on the post-war North and its cultural heritage. Here, at the center, is Mark Twain. But other figures, less recognized today, such as William Dean Howells, were also at work, and Emerson, Whitman, and Melville, all remained active for a time after the War. After Twain, the next great figure Mumford explores in some depth isn't a novelist or a poet, but the philosopher-psychologist William James. (Mumford give short shrift to William's famous novelist brother, Henry James.) William James, while not a poet, is nevertheless a gifted essayist and one of the fathers the uniquely American philosophy of pragmatism (along with the brilliant but eccentric Charles Saunders Pierce and the more prosaic John Dewey). Moving forward to the time of his writing, Mumford notes the importance (and limitations) of John Dewey, who was growing in stature and would attain an especially high status in the era between the wars as a public intellectual. (Mumford wryly notes that Dewey's prose is like taking the subway: it gets you where you need to go, but the trip isn't very scenic.) 

One should be sure to read the new Introduction to the work that Mumford wrote in 1957,  Mumford not only critiques the work of others, but he's also instructive in critiquing himself. For instance, he rues having mostly (or completely?) ignored Emily Dickinson, and he says he'd treat Melville and William James differently. And, perhaps most noteworthy, he would have treated Henry Adams differently. By 1957, Mumford appreciates Adams as the prophet of the disintegration of Western Civilization as well as prophet of the machine age (something that Mumford undertook as well). 

As a way to celebrate our nation in this fraught time, this book was a perfect fit. Mumford doesn't hide warts and deformities, but he nevertheless appreciates the American experience with a depth of perception that few can match. As we who live in a new Gilded Age and in an era of disintegration, the experiences and models of the past take on a new importance, and Lewis Mumford provides us with excellent guidance as we seek to mine the past to gain our bearings and help us set our course. 

American Philosophy: A Love Story by John Kaag

John Kaag's American Philosophy: A Love Story (2016) is one of those books that successfully weaves a personal narrative with deep learning. I enjoyed it very much.

The set-up is rather simple. A young philosopher with an interest in American philosophy is going through a rough time. Rather by chance, he learns for the existence of the personal library of one of the preeminent American philosophers of the first half of the 20th century, William Ernest Hocking (1973-1966). Hocking was a doctoral student at Harvard during the time of some of the towering figures in American philosophy: William James, Josiah Royce, and Georges Santayana (with Charles Sanders Pierce hovering in the wings, as it were). Hocking later joined the Harvard philosophy department and guided it into the mid-20th century. Hocking did well enough in his chosen field to be able to afford to buy a farm in New Hampshire, where he built a library for himself. And Kraag "discovers" the library with the help of a local, and he begins to explore it with the permission of the family (Hocking's three granddaughters).

The personal life of the narrator (John Kaag) isn't going well as the narrative opens. His marriage isn't working and nothing seems quite in sync. However, the discovery of the library and the treasury of books within it give him a project upon which to focus. And as befitting a philosopher, every book allows a story of its own to be told, sometimes about the contents of the book itself (Descartes, for instance), sometimes about the times and conditions under which it was written, and sometimes about figures associated with the library's builder, Hocking. And as I mentioned, we have Hockings older peers (James, Pierce, Royce), his later colleagues (Whitehead, for instance, whom Hocking enticed to Harvard), and other famous figures, contemporary and past, such as Robert Frost, Pearl Buck, Emerson, Thoreau, and Whitman. Also, women in Hocking's life, such as his wife Agnes, and more public figures such as Lydia Child and Jane Addams (of Hull House fame), add a significant theme to the story (primarily the under-valuation of these women in American culture). Kraag brings each figure into the account as he finds an inscription or letter or autograph in the collection of books and papers. And as he contemplates his discoveries, he works to come to terms with his own situation. Indeed, after the break-up of his marriage, another woman enters his life he begins to share in his adventure, both professionally and on a personal level.

Kaag tells his own story with honesty and compassion, and he's an expert in American philosophy who capably relates an aspect of American life--American philosophy--that is often ignored and certainly under-appreciated today. (Has any American philosopher been a consequential figure in American culture since John Dewey? Has any American philosopher since Dewey held the prominence of William James or Ralph Waldo Emerson? I think not.)

Kaag tells the story of American philosophy in a way that prompts me to want to know it much better. I've certainly delved into William James, and some Dewey and Pierce, but with this book, I realize the Royce and Hocking hold promise as well. (Santayana was already on my radar.) For anyone interested in American philosophy and culture, this book will prove both fruitful and enjoyable. 

The Master & His Emissary: The Divided Brain & the Making of the Modern World by Iain McGilchrist

Growing up in America as a member of the Baby Boom generation, I know that I’ve lived in the best place and the best time in the history of the world—or at least very close to it. Canada, some European countries, Australia, and later Japan can lay some claims to being the best places ever, but suffice it to say that I’ve been lucky. Yet, despite all the material comfort and security that my country and culture have allowed me, there’s still a sense that things aren’t as they should be. The twentieth century is full of contradictions: untold wealth and prosperity interrupted by horrific wars; deep economic depressions despite the existence of all the ingredients of prosperity; the threat of nuclear annihilation; a culture that sometimes seems alien to human concerns; and civilizations that degrade the natural environment with wanton indifference. Thus, despite my good fortune, I’ve been sympathetic to critiques of contemporary culture. My introduction to such a critique came from Theodore Roszak’s The Making of a Counter-Culture: Reflections on the Technocratic Society and Its Youthful Opposition (1969), which I was assigned to read in my freshman year in college for my course “Introduction to Political Theory.” From that introduction, I went on to read the likes of Hannah Arendt, Lewis Mumford, Jacques Ellul, Phillip Rieff, the Frankfurt School, Jürgen Habermas, William Irwin Thompson, Wendell Berry, and others. I’ve found resonance with critiques of contemporary Western culture. And much of Asia and other developing regions have adopted Western culture, especially its economics and technology. I hasten to add that I’m well acquainted and sympathetic to the champions of our contemporary world, too, and as this is also “the best of times.” I appreciate the positive perspective as well as the negative.

I mention all this because now I have now encountered a new diagnosis and critique of many of the problems of Western culture that strikes me as uniquely insightful and truly ingenious.

College literature professor turned psychiatrist, Iain McGilchrist, has written a two-part book about the anatomical split in our brains and how that split in functions affects how we perceive the world and creates our culture. According to McGilchrist, we can consider our culture from the perspective of the different functions of the two different hemispheres of the brain. (For some further background, see my earlier post about McGilchrist’s RSA Animate presentation and the book he wrote as a follow-up to this masterwork under review here.) In the first part of the book, McGilchrist focuses on anatomical and functional details of the brain, with the well-known but often misunderstood division of the left and right hemispheres. The split is not, as first thought, a neat division of language and logic on the left versus vision, music, and feeling on the right. Functions for each of these skills draw on both sides of the brain. However, the brain is divided and is different on each side. In fact, it doesn’t even sit symmetrically within the cranium: it’s torqued (Yanklovian torque) as if someone had twisted it slightly from the bottom so that the right front is slightly larger than its left counterpart, and the left posterior just a bit larger than its right counterpart. Also, the two sides are joined by a bridge, the corpus callosum, which serves as the gatekeeper that regulates the traffic between the two halves. This (rather narrow) bridge provides a clue about the division of functions within the brain. The gatekeeper often performs its most important work when it inhibits traffic between the two halves. Why? Because each half has its own outlook or way of perceiving the world.

McGilchrist spends much of the book examining the two different ways each side of the brain perceives the world: the right deals with living, dynamic, unique, and context-dependent portions of the environment. The left side deals with (and creates) the static, still, and minutely focused parts of our attention. Each side has evolved to deal with two different needs. The two hemispheres of the brain cooperate, but their perspectives are mostly separate. Thus, language involves both sides of the brain, but the left side, with its emphasis on static, detailed information dominates vocabulary and syntax issues. Thus, while an impulse toward speech may originate in the right brain, those impulses must pass to the left side to obtain full expression. Here is where stroke victims and the subjects of split-brain surgeries (severing the corpus callosum to alleviate epileptic seizures) provide amazing clues about the different functions of the two hemispheres. McGilchrist wades through this research to deepen our understanding and appreciation of these issues.

But if the book were only a catalog of “our amazing divided brain!” it would prove exciting but not profound. The profundity value of the book comes from McGilchrist’s ability to trace the effects of this division of the brain into daily life, especially into a portrait of its influence on the formal culture of the West. (He doesn’t address Eastern culture, begging off for lack of acquaintance.) McGilchrist’s knowledge of Western culture, chiefly literary and philosophical culture, is impressive. McGilchrist argues that Western culture since the Enlightenment, and especially after the Romantic reaction to the Enlightenment, has been dominated by a left-brain perspective. The left-brain focuses on the static, the manufactured (i.e., the not living, not organic), and that which we can manipulate and control and which therefore pays easily identifiable dividends. The left-side also prefers the literal to the metaphoric and the artificial to the natural. 

McGilchrist finds this especially true in the 20th-century when examining contemporary literature and philosophy, as well as the broader cultural milieu. McGilchrist locates times in Western cultural history when attitudes, beliefs, and practices reflected in the two different perspectives and functions of the brain were balanced, such as in Periclean Athens and the Renaissance. Problems arose early, on the other hand, when the pre-Socratics, such as Heraclitus, with his emphasis on flux and change, were shunted aside by Plato and Aristotle, who preferred the static and established  “reason” as the ideal. Indeed, from Plato through Kant, Western philosophy emphasized the left-hemisphere perspective (with some exception for Spinoza: “Spinoza was one of the few philosophers, apart from Pascal, between Plato and Hegel to have a strong sense of the right-hemisphere world.” McGilchrist, Iain (2010-08-16). The Master and His Emissary (Kindle Locations 3804-3805). Yale University Press. Kindle Edition.). In the broader culture, religion offered a good deal of counter-balance to the left-sidedness of philosophy. McGilchrist argues that with Hegel, philosophy begins to take a corrective turn. McGilchrist, following Leon Sass, agrues that modern culture displays many of the traits of schizophrenia. Publisher’s Weekly writes of Sass’s book Madness and Modernism: Insanity in the Light of Modern Art, Literature, and Thought:

Does the schizophrenic's chaotic inner world resemble modern art and literature? Sass, a clinical psychologist and Rutgers professor, argues that schizophrenia and modernism display striking affinities: fragmentation, defiance of authority, multiple viewpoints, self-referentiality and rejection of the external world for an omnipotent self or, alternately, a total loss of self. While the parallels he draws often seem superficial, there is much to ponder in Sass's notion that schizophrenia's core traits are exaggerations of tendencies fostered by our culture. 

As this quote suggests, McGilchrist, following Sass, finds striking resemblances that McGilchrist identifies as a manifestation of a left-brain perspective run awry. Identifying and counter-acting this trend is a defining part of McGilchrist’s project. He writes:

Hegel, along with Heraclitus and Heidegger, has a particular place in the unfolding story of the relationship between the cerebral hemispheres, in that, it seems to me, his philosophy actually tries to express the mind's intuition of its own structure – if you like, the mind cognising itself. His spirit is like an unseen presence in this book, and it is necessary to devote a few pages to his heroic attempts to articulate, in relation to the structure of the mind or spirit (Geist), what lies almost beyond articulation, even now that we have knowledge of the structure of the brain. 

McGilchrist, Iain. The Master and His Emissary (Kindle Locations 5477-5481). Yale University Press. Kindle Edition.

Along with Hegel, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, Heidegger, and Wittgenstein, among German-language philosophers, receive extended and sympathetic treatment (demonstrating that McGilchrist willingly suffers through some dense and challenging prose to retrieve nuggets of insight). Also receiving favorable treatment and consideration are lesser-known figures like Husserl, Scheler, and Merleau-Ponty: each gives voice and insight into the function of the right brain. Finally, McGilchrist considers the American pragmatists, John Dewey and William James, for their useful perspectives on philosophy and the organic nature of reality.  

My choice of the Nietzschean fable of the Master and his emissary suggests that right at the heart of the relationship between the hemispheres I see a power struggle between two unequal entities, and moreover one in which the inferior, dependent party (the left hemisphere) starts to see itself as of primary importance.

Id. at 5481-5483.

Is all of this worth the effort? I think so. It’s a very valid and live issue, I believe. How we view our world, what perspectives we take, will change the course of our actions. If we do in fact give predominance to the left-brain perspective, we will reap consequences that will likely backfire on us. Like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, we have loosed its magic on the world, but we have lost control. We need the Master, the living world of the right brain, to come to the rescue.