Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine and the Murder of a President, by Candance Millard

In what I take to be an imagined scene in the first chapter of Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine and the Murder of a President (Doubleday, 2011), Charles Guiteau, the future assassin of President James Garfield, stands on the deck of the S. S. Stonington, contemplating his future.  The Stonington collides with another ship, which quickly sinks, in flames and smoke.  Guiteau manages to survive.  He takes his survival as a sign that he has a divinely inspired purpose.  The facts of this scene are beyond dispute.  The ship did sink, Guiteau was aboard and did survive, and his diaries tell us its effect on him.  What bothers me is the fictional frame of the scene.  How do we know, factually, what Guiteau was thinking at the moment of impact?  We know only what Guiteau’s diaries, and other sources, tell us.   Everything else is speculation.

Author Candace Millard’s narrative is smoothly written and highly readable.  She tends to divide her characters into binary categories: the good and the bad—Guiteau, Senator Roscoe Conkling, Vice President Chester B. Arthur, for instance—are the bad, while Garfield and his secretary Brown are the good.  When Arthur, faced with the possibility of becoming President after Garfield is shot, is somehow redeemed, the exact nature of his conversion remains unclear.  Millard suggests that the enormity of the challenge before him had something to do with the change, but she never really questions the change itself.

The failure to recognize shades of moral coloration in these figures is a failing in this book, which dwells more on personalities and superficial events than on causes and meanings and implications.  

Remarks for Lamar Dodd School of Art Graduation Ceremony, May 9, 2012

I am pleased to be here on behalf of the Franklin College of Arts and Sciences to extend congratulations to all of you students, parents, friends, as well as to the faculty and staff of the Lamar Dodd School of Art, on this most important day. Students, you have earned a degree from one of the finest schools of art in the nation. You should be proud. Many of you will go out in the world to become practicing artists, or to teach and create art at a university, or to do research into the history and meaning of art, or to help prepare future teachers. Many of you will go out into the world and take up vocations that have little to do with what you have studied for the past four years—that is OK. You’ve had a great preparation to be an active and contributing citizen, whether as an artist or businessperson or teacher or parent or journalist or whatever. Use the creativity and appreciation for art and beauty that this UGA education has helped nurture in you to make the world a better place.

The public perception of the artist, a perception that some artists encourage, is that the artist stands apart from society, devoting him- or herself wholly to the production of art.

This is a false perception. You can’t allow it to persist. The main thing you must do in the world—a world fraught with serious problems and perils—is engage. Commit yourself to improving the world around you, and do it using the skills and values acquired through your experience with the Lamar Dodd School. Art doesn’t exist in isolation from society. The artist does not stand apart. The artist is part of a larger matrix of humanness, more important than any one individual, more important than art itself. Be a citizen of the nation and the world. Prove the values of the arts by using them to help others, to assuage the sick, to enhance the quality of individual lives, to elevate the thinking of people and of nations, to bring passion and insight to the business world, to give pause to those who think purely in terms of numbers, to enable those who suffer and despair to see above and beyond the constraints that hold them down. Make the arts your avenue towards doing things that matter in this world and this time that need your help.

Once again I congratulate you on this propitious day.

Remarks for Hugh Hodgson School of Music Graduation Ceremony, May 10, 2012

I am pleased to be here on behalf of the Franklin College of Arts and Sciences to extend congratulations to all of you students, parents, friends, as well as to the faculty and staff of the Hugh Hodgson School of Music, on this most important day. Students, you have earned a degree from one of the finest schools of music in the nation. You should be proud. Many of you will go out in the world to become practicing musicians, to compose or conduct or to sing, to teach at a school or university, or to research the history and forms of music, or to train future teachers. Many of you will go out into the world and take up vocations that have little to do with what you have studied for the past four years—that is OK. You’ve had a great preparation to be an active and contributing citizen, whether as a musician or businessperson or teacher or parent or journalist or whatever.

Whatever avenue you follow, the main thing you must do in this world—a world fraught with serious problems and perils—is engage. Use the creativity and appreciation for art and music that you have acquired through your experience with the Hugh Hodgson School to make the world a better place.

Performers and teachers and lovers of music play a crucial role in our society. The oldest musical instrument ever discovered—a 35,000 year old flute made from the wing bone of a vulture—suggests that music has been an innate and essential aspect of human experience since its recorded beginnings. None of us can imagine our lives without music. Yet musicians and lovers and teachers of music are part of a larger matrix of humanness that is more important than any one individual, more important than music itself. Be a citizen of the nation and the world. Prove the values of the arts and of music by using them to help others, to assuage the sick, to enhance the quality of individual lives, to elevate the thinking of people and of nations, to bring passion and insight to the business world, to give pause to those who think purely in terms of numbers, to enable those who suffer and despair to see above and beyond the constraints that hold them down. Make your passion for music your avenue towards doing things that matter in this world and this time that need your help.

Once again I congratulate you on this propitious day.

Remarks for 18th Andrea Carson Coley lecture, April 6, 2012

On behalf of the Franklin College and the University I welcome you to the 18^th Andrea Carson Coley lecture. This is always an important event on the spring semester calendar for Women’s Studies. In memory and honor of Andrea Coley, a young woman who came out as a lesbian and suffered hostility and non-acceptance that led to her suicide, the Coley lecture seeks to foster understanding and acceptance of people who are different. It speaks for the spirit and practice of fairness, tolerance, appreciation and equity for all people. This year in particular seems particularly relevant. The current political campaign, as surly and uncivil as I can ever recall a campaign having been, has focused unfortunately on a very narrow and singular definition of what it means to be an American, of what it means to be human. Those who don’t fit that definition are regarded by some as suspect, second-rate, undeserving of full status as human beings. Not only do we witness attacks on gays, lesbians, transgendered, and others who are different. We are also witnessing attacks on women in general, on the fundamental concept of difference and self-empowerment. We recently heard a young woman lambasted on a national radio program for the mere fact of her testimony before Congress. And we have seen in Florida how a teenage boy with dark skin, who behaved and dressed in what one observer interpreted as a suspicious manner, ended up dead on the lawn of a small-town neighborhood. These are extremist attacks, extremist acts, extremist views, you might say, but the current political climate demonstrates all too well how fast extremes can become the middle ground. In this environment, where the gains of the last fifty years are cast into doubt and sometimes even scorn, the importance of programs that highlight, study, teach, and promote issues of gender, race, and difference becomes all the more clear.

I am so pleased to see everyone at this important event today. Thank you to the staff, students, and faculty of Women’s Studies for all that you do. Since the Institute was established 35 years ago, more than 10,000 students have completed Women’s Studies courses. These students – and thousands of others who experience a first-class liberal arts and sciences education – are equipped to enter the public discourse with tolerance and generosity: the wisdom, justice, and moderation that are the pillars of the UGA Arch. Thank you to Kathy and Andrew Coley for endowing this event in honor of their daughter. I cannot imagine a more powerful legacy for Andrea, than fostering those crucial values for our students, faculty, and community. And thank you in advance to my friend and colleague, Tricia Lootens, for the talk she is giving today. As a teacher, scholar, and citizen, she has had a tremendous and beneficial impact on her department, this institute, and the University. I look forward to her remarks. Thank you.

Vesuvius: A Biography, by Alwyn Scarth

This history of Mount Vesuvius and its impact onthe lives of the people who lived nearby and the Italian peninsula itself is the slave of its own subject. Meticulous in a prosaic way, the book chronicles every eruption, every flow of lava and burst of steam and ash, that is recorded in written history, oral accounts, legend, and in the geological record. There is an underlying premise here—that long-lived natural phenomenon such as active volcanoes have a deep and lasting effect on human culture and history. A good thesis. My objection to this book is that it rarely raises its head above the ground level. We learn a great deal about the volcano, how it formed, what happened in various eruptions, how many people were affected, who wrote about it, its impact on settlements and farming communities, and so on. Mount Vesuvius is probably the best documented geological activity in human history. The interest of the account varies directly in relation to the detail available on particular eruptions—such as the famous eruption in AD 72 that destroyed Pompeii and Herculaneum, and chronicles by such writers as Pliny the Elder (who died in the eruption), Pliny the Younger, and many others—and to historical figures that emerge in the course of the story. The 18^th century British diplomat Sir William Hamilton (1730-1803), whose writings about Vesuvius became one of the most detailed accounts of volcanoes ever produced, is an example—he was my favorite character. And there are moments, when eruptions threaten villages and force thousands of people to flee in panic, that the story comes alive. But for the most part charts, scrupulous lists and deadly prose hold sway.  Princeton University Press, 2009.