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In The Shape of Hawthorne’s Career (1976), Nina Baym argues that rather than reading Hawthorne’s works in isolation from one another, critics should read them chronologically in “the context they provide for each other” and as reflecting their author’s “literary sensibility” as it changed over time.1 The shapes of the careers of some of the other figures in this section are well known: Herman Melville was a popular author of sea yarns who withdrew from the market after his popularity declined, leaving Billy Budd in manuscript at his death; Emily Dickinson was a manuscript poet whose productivity ebbed and flowed over several decades, while Walt Whitman revised and expanded his Leaves of Grass many times over nearly half a century; and Frederick Douglass had long careers as both a prominent orator and published author.
In this paper, I tackle a difficult question about “enemy love,” with C.S. Lewis as a primary guide. In the Christian political tradition, can the command to “love thy enemy” be reconciled with the military task of killing one's opponent in war? After defining love, enemy, and enemy love, I move on to violence, particularly lethal violence. I disagree with perceptive contemporary Christian political ethicists Nigel Biggar and Marc LiVecche insofar as they argue that the killing of one's enemy can be “an expression of love” towards them. Such language obscures its moral ambiguity and is strictly speaking false. One may perhaps love one's enemy despite killing them, not by killing them. Lewis's conceptual distinction between “absolute” and “relative” love helps to untangle the knotty nature and limits of enemy love.
Brethren and Mennonites are diverse and complex bodies with long interconnected histories. Some historians have argued that religious radicals, such as Mennonites and Brethren, were the essential shapers of the distinctive contours of American Christianity. The Brethren–Mennonite sibling rivalry has often been intense. But during times of stress, such as war, they have worked together, often along with Quakers. In America, they have both been creators and products of a culture that has occasionally persecuted them but has more often romanticized and idealized their attempts to serve Christ and their neighbors.
The system of dehumanization through the transatlantic slave trade and chattel slavery drew upon racism as its economic and religious rationale. White Protestants, who predominated among the earliest white settlers, developed their theology and social ethics in a concretized context of Black subjugation. The vast majority of the enslaved, exposed to Protestantism in British North America, never abandoned sensibilities derived from their African religious background. Postbellum and twentieth-century society saw a growth in missions, Social Gospel work, church-building, the Holiness and Pentecostal movements, activism and justice movements, and political involvement among Black Christians – often resisted by white Christians every step of the way. Today’s Black church increasingly identifies with the Black Lives Matter movement and the importance of critical race theory, which posits that racism pervades sacred and secular structures and systems in American society.
Chapter 4 examines the emergence of different internationalist aspirations on both sides of the Atlantic to supersede conflict-prone imperialist power politics and to advance towards a more pacific international order in the decades before the First World War. It compares the pursuits of liberal and both centrist and more radical socialist actors, non-governmental associations and newly important transnational networks like the burgeoning pacifist movement, the Second International and, notably, the new phalanx of those who demanded that power politics should be replaced by arbitration and authoritative covenants of international law – and who paved the way for the Hague Conventions of 1899 and 1907. It reassesses not only the guiding ideas of the vanguards of such aspirations but also the actual influence they had on transatlantic and global politics in this crucial phase, seeking to offer a systematic explanation of why these counterforces failed to civilise international politics and why ultimately they could not prevent the escalatory processes that caused the catastrophe of 1914.
The Elmhirsts emerged from the First World War feeling that orthodox Christianity was no longer adequate as a guide either to belief or to conduct. Like others of their era, they looked for new forms of spiritual meaning, a new guide to moral behaviour, new sources of affective or social fulfilment and different frameworks for understanding the nature of society as a whole. Collectively, this chapter terms these searches ‘socio-spiritual questing’. It considers four approaches taken at Dartington to filling the gap left by Christianity. The Elmhirsts tried re-shaping the Church with the help of the arts, explored the possibilities of Eastern spirituality, worked to advance humankind’s unity through group spiritual exploration and experimented with a planned regime of ‘psycho-physical hygiene’. Interwar socio-spiritual questing was so wide-ranging and amorphous that it defies comprehensive survey. Dartington Hall provides an alternative way of drawing together its various strands: an unusual convergence in a diffuse landscape of seeking.
Few themes have greater longevity in Britten studies than politics. Conventionally, Britten abandoned his overt political engagement of the 1930s – symbolised by his departure to the United States – finding, through a process of self-discovery, a breadth of human expression that transcended the slogans of politicised art in Peter Grimes. Britten’s pacifism and left-wing politics have formed – with his sexuality – a nexus of othered identity that was, as Pears had it, ‘outside the pale’ in British society of the mid-twentieth century. However, this dichotomy of self and other risks rendering British society an undifferentiated landscape of political and social conservatism. This, in turn, prevents consideration of how Britten’s left-wing pacifism intersected with broader trends and attitudes, and other radical individuals, as well as of the place of politics within his myriad, complex interactions with such conventional institutions as the BBC or the monarchy. It is thus timely to reconsider how communism, socialism, and pacifism intersected with Britten’s musical career, exploring the history of these terms, and how they influenced aesthetics, cultural practice, and individuals.
Auden’s poetry and ideology were shaped by each era and circumstance in which he lived and worked and by those by whom he was surrounded. His early views on politics, religion, sexuality, and the importance of art, music, and poetry to society – all of which defined the poet as Britten knew him in the 1930s and early 1940s – underwent some form of revision thereafter, providing fodder for those critics who sought to conscript him to the turbulent period leading up to and including the Second World War, hailed by many as the ‘golden age’ of his poetry. In England, particularly, some scholars have posited that Auden’s rejection of his ‘age’ – and his country in 1939 – did damage to both his contemporary and posthumous reputations, going so far as to posit that he had squandered his opportunity to be considered that nation’s greatest poet of the twentieth century. As this chapter explores, Auden’s outlook on the varying matters that crept into his poetry was complex and often contradictory.
This chapter examines the early intersections between Peter Pears and Benjamin Britten, well before their American years (1939–42) and the official beginning of their romantic relationship, as well as the tenor’s early career. Pears’s earliest professional singing engagements began with the BBC Wireless Chorus, in the newly established Wireless Octet (renamed the BBC Singers B in March 1935) intended to function alongside the BBC Singers and take part in BBC Chorus performances and Promenade Concerts; he remained in these various ensembles until October 1937. In both late 1936 and late 1937, Pears travelled to the United States on tours with the New English Singers. In April 1939, Pears travelled to the United States via Canada with Britten. Pears’s career in the United States is explored, but more significant is his vocal study with Clytie Mundy, to whom he attributed the greatest growth in his emerging solo voice. On their return to wartime England, Pears and Britten registered for conscientious objector status. At the same time, Pears enjoyed considerable success as a leading soloist on the operatic (and touring) stage and in recital and BBC broadcasts with Britten.
This essay provides insight into some of the content of Britten and Pears’s book collection. It draws attention to why certain volumes were used as the source material for various musical works. The essay also emphasises how friendships with writers, such as art historian Kenneth Clark and novelist and critic E. M. Forster, influenced key aspects of Britten and Pears’s lives: their passion for fine art and their faith in pacifism. This survey of the collection underlines why their books are often useful bases of information for biographical background about both musicians. Their library tells us stories about their childhoods and discloses their interests in topics ranging from classic English literature to gardening to the developing genre of gay fiction. Additionally, it adds context to fundamental aspects of their lives, such as their anti-war stance and their enduring commitment to one another.
This chapter traces the origins of International Relations (IR) scholarship from the outbreak of the First World War to the making of the peace. It follows a set of pioneering thinkers and pressure groups across Europe and the United States to demonstrate both the intellectual roots and the practical infrastructure of the emerging discipline. The chapter begins by reviewing the state of international affairs on the eve of the war which inspired a set of writings on economic interdependence and world order. The second section shows how the conflict itself prompted authors to reflect on the causes of war and the conditions for peace. The third section examines the intellectual preparation of the post-war order within an emerging community of IR experts. The final section reveals how the founders of IR contributed as government advisors to the Paris Peace Conference and, simultaneously, laid the institutional foundations of the discipline. As a result, this chapter concludes, the origins of IR were deeply intertwined with wartime events and inspired by the making, not just interpreting, of international politics.
This chapter focuses on just war theory as an approach to Shakespeare and war. It gives an overview of different theories of war and illustrates their significance in the Elizabethan historical context. This includes a discussion of the most important readings of Shakespeare as a realist or a pacifist and a subsequent analysis of Shakespeare’s use of just war theory. Drawing on a variety of examples, this chapter exemplifies what is considered a just cause, a right intention, or a legitimate authority in Shakespeare’s plays; the analysis shows who is presented as culpable or responsible and under which circumstances the relation between the cause and cost of a war must be considered out of balance. The author traces this line of argument along illustrative readings of 3 Henry VI, 2 Henry IV, Henry V, and Troilus and Cressida and suggests that just war theory may offer another perspective on Shakespeare and war.
Just war theorists who argue that war is morally justified under certain circumstances infer implicitly that establishing the military institutions needed to wage war is also morally justified. In this paper, I mount a case in favor of a standing military establishment: to the extent that going to war is a way to discharge duties to protect fellow citizens and distant strangers from grievous harms, we have a duty to set up the institutions that enable us to discharge that duty. I then respond to four objections drawn from Ned Dobos's recent book Ethics, Security, and the War-Machine.
Chapter 1 traces the common ideological grounds that made possible the formation of an alliance in the early 1920s between Reform-minded students in Peru and a number of Christian missionaries and religious pacifists from Europe and the United States. These students, many of whom formed the APRA movement shortly after, viewed in continental solidarity a remedy to the moral crises they sensed around them. For many Christian pacifists, who like the Scottish Reverend John A. Mackay and the US internationalist Anna Melissa Graves feared belligerent forms of nationalism, the references they saw in the Peruvian student reform movement to the Bolivarian ideal of a united America was inspiring. They viewed in these young Latin American radicals an opportunity for spiritual renewal in the Western World. Whereas these groups of historical actors often disagreed on the means to the end, still they agreed on which end to pursue. For all of them, the Americas provided a foil for the wrongs of Western civilization.
A non-violent position drawn from the Anabaptist tradition (‘two-kingdom dualism’) is contrasted with the Christian pacifism with which that position is commonly conflated. It is argued that two-kingdom dualism more effectively leverages the philosophical and practical features of its particularly Christian character than does Christian pacifism – and that these features may have implications beyond the philosophy of religion.
The empires experienced the nineteenth century in different ways, and their experience was generally a bad one. The only empire to emerge in Central and Eastern Europe at that time – the German Empire – was also the only one that could regard the decades leading up to 1914 as a success.Four powers figured on the map of Central and South-Eastern Europe in 1815: Prussia, Russia, Austria, and the Ottoman Empire. At the outbreak of war a century later, the northern borders appeared remarkably stable. Germany shared a border with Russia on Polish soil. Austria had evolved into Austria-Hungary, but its northern border had barely changed; only in the south, following the annexation of Bosnia-Herzegovina in 1908, did it extend much further than before. And indeed it was here, in the Balkans, that the changes were biggest, with the Ottoman Empire having lost its European foothold.
The perspective is not isolationist: the United States should be a constructive world citizen. Nor does it arise from pacifism, although sometimes it may be wise not to seek to win wars, but to end them. Given war aversion and the essential absence of threat, military spending is hugely excessive. However, even if the US should substantially disarm, it is probably wise to keep some military forces to carry out limited missions, to hedge a bit against the highly unlikely rise of an effective adversary, and to develop a capacity to rebuild. There would be risk if military forces were very substantially reduced, but experiences in Vietnam and Iraq suggest that there is risk as well in maintaining large forces-in-being that can be deployed in an under-reflective manner. It also facilitates misguided militarized assertiveness, fatuous political rhetoric, and arrogance. The American public has not become newly isolationist or militaristic. It has long been willing to engage internationally, but not to expend American lives in costly and questionable foreign adventures: the 9/11 wars are not indicators of change in this. Indeed, an Iraq Syndrome has taken hold, and military intervention, particularly with ground troops does not seem to have much of a future.
To meet the challenge of mobilizing the nation for war in Europe, the Wilson administration took steps to silence dissent on the home front. In addition to a massive propaganda campaign to rouse public enthusiasm for the war, the government used the Espionage Act (1917) to silence anti-war publications and to arrest pacifists, political radicals, and others accused of making disloyal statements. The government’s campaign against dissenters was upheld in landmark decisions by the Supreme Court, supporting the imprisonment of hundreds of anti-war speakers, most notably the socialist leader Eugene V. Debs. While federal government repression encouraged similar laws at the state level as well as a wave of vigilante violence against pacifists and anti-war radicals, the arrests also led some free speech advocates to form the American Civil Liberties Union, one part of a wider campaign that sought amnesty for imprisoned dissenters.
This essay explores women’s antiwar activism in New York, California, and Kansas demonstrating the national breadth and regional diversity of pacifist and peace organizing. The essay identifies some of the individual women who raised their voices and pens against the war and includes some of the antiwar and pacifist organizations women created or joined including the Woman’s Peace Party, the People’s Council, and the Union Against Militarism. It argues that women of the First World War peace movement linked state-sanctioned violence in war with state-sanctioned violence against women, children, and the poor. Women thus contributed to the process by which the peace movement transitioned from defining peace as the absence of war to defining peace as the presence of social, economic, and political justice.
One of the many fascinating ironies about the 1930s and 1940s is the prevailing assumption in the west that the world was secular, even while Christian thinkers and theologians played prominent public roles and incorporated Christian ethics into their world views. Christians during the period sometimes saw themselves as the beleaguered other and other times embraced “secular” norms of social and political interaction as integral to their Christian ethics. These norms were embodied in movements ranging from communism and anti-imperialism to rampant bureaucratization and militarization. Many British and US (if not French) elites, including government leaders, academics, and the new legal professionals, came from a Christian formation, and scholars are recovering the ethical, including religious, formations of influential figures such as Herbert Butterfield, Norman Angel, and Arnold Toynbee, precursors of the contemporary English School.1 John Foster Dulles’s religious world view and its influence on the Commission for a Just and Durable Peace, Reinhold Niebuhr’s political theology and its foundational role in postwar international relations theory, and Jacques Maritain’s infusion of Christian personalism into transnational human rights all had theoretical and policy repercussions far beyond national boundaries. Other Christian activists and theologians – including Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Dorothy Day, A. J. Muste, Simone Weil, and the religious writers of the Harlem Renaissance – created lasting legacies on the ethics of addressing not only violence but also poverty, class, and race. As a result, they also need to be included in the Christian/IR/ethical pantheon of this era.