Thirty-eight bottles of beer on the wall. Thirty days until Election Day. Yep! A month. Wow!

     Not too long ago I quoted the Spanish philosopher José Ortega y Gassett. Ortega is a dominant voice in philosophy circles in the Spanish-speaking world and an influential voice in Europe, Germany in particular, but English-speaking philosophers generally regard him as an unimportant lightweight. Too bad for them.

     The cornerstone to Ortega´s thought is so simple that it can seem lightweight. But then we should note that his contemporary and in ways fellow traveler Martin Heidegger more than once stated: ¨The simplest is the hardest.¨

     Ortega´s simple principle is ¨I am myself plus my circumstance.¨ He introduces this principle in his first published book, Meditations on Don Quixote, and rests upon it for the rest of his long career.

     Ortega saw it as his mission and the mission of his generation to overcome what he called the overweening realism of Greek philosophy as well as the overweening idealism of modern (beginning with DesCartes) philosophy. In Hegelian fashion he believed to have achieved this by synthesizing both: I am myself (subject, idea, thought, cogito) and my circumstances (object, matter, things, the other).

     I don’t intend here to lecture about Ortega, but instead want to use him to meditate about monuments. Who knows? Maybe, just maybe, we can have one or two monumental thoughts?

     Skip, until you wrote about Aunt Fanny’s Cabin I had forgotten about that place. Or, not really. I hadn’t forgotten, I´d simply not thought about it for ever and ever. Not even when I found myself fantasizing (we vegetarians do such sometimes) about eating fried chicken, I´d always think back to Dillard House chicken and not Aunt Fanny´s (though at the time we considered it the fried chicken supreme). Memory is a strange critter. For what it’s worth (and Darwin would say it’s worth a lot), the Dillard House is still dishing out its chicken while Aunt Fanny´s is not.  

     Maybe, even probably, my forgetfulness about Aunt Fanny’s wasn’t so simple. Now, Skip, that you’ve reminded me, what I most vividly remember about the place is my discomfort when the menu ´boy´ (they were boys, same age as we, or a bit younger, likely so we could legitimately call them, silently if not out loud, ´boy´) came to our table, head poked through a hole in the menu board as if it were a plow harness, to recite the menu, then flash a horribly stereotypical smile and hold out a hand for his ´handout´ tip. The first words of the act were always: ¨Aunt Fanny sez hey …¨ 

     Each time, excepting the shock of the first time, my personal little dilemma was always: what do I do? I don’t want to watch this! But if I don’t watch, am I being rude? The boy´s script was, thankfully, brief (How long does it take to present a menu with, as I recall, only chicken, fried steak, and country ham on it? Maybe catfish too.). Still, it seemed endless to me and I was always relieved when it ended and the boy walked away, a couple quarters in hand.

     What would we hear were we able to sit down now with some of the ´boys´ and listen to what it was like for them to play out this role? How in the world could we even try to apologize?

     I am myself and my circumstances, and Sunday evening family trips to Aunt Fanny’s Cabin is one of those circumstances which I am. If I deny that this circumstance is very much what I am, I deny myself. If, though, I deny the ´I am´ and give weight only to the circumstance, I equally deny myself.

     Being alive means making choices. Everything I am is due to the choices I make. With one exception: I have no choice about ´I am myself´. I can be myself and myself only. There is no other self I can be. ᾗθος άηθρόπῳ δαίμων, said the great Heraclitus, ethos anthropoi daimon, man’s character is his daimon, his demon, his destiny.

     Our circumstances are manifold, changeable and changing. They can be physical (including and pretty much beginning with our own bodies), spatial, temporal and/or familial and/or social and/or historical (Skip rightfully urges us to take into consideration, when we presume to stand in judgement of people like George Washington or Robert E. Lee, that some of their beliefs and actions, while unacceptable today, were not at all so in their own day), linguistic (language can be both a clear window open to a new world outside and an opaque window closed to a new world outside), and more.

     Ortega, sitting in Madrid, writes: ¨My natural exit toward the universe is through the mountain passes of the Guadarrama or the plain of Ontígola. This sector of circumstantial reality forms the other half of my person, only through it can I integrate myself and be fully myself … I am myself and my circumstance, and if I do not save it, I cannot save myself. Benefac loco illi quo natus es, as we read in the Bible (Google tells me that this can be translated as: Be good to the place where you were born). And in the Platonic school the task of all culture is given as ´to save the appearances,´ the phenomena; that is to say, to look for the meaning of what surrounds us.¨ (Meditations on Quixote, pages 45 and 46)

     Monuments are some of the things we find surrounding us, calling on us, per Ortega, to understand. There are at least two clear ways to fail to understand: (1) accept them as if at face value, and (2) topple them.

     There are two types of monument. Etymology helps us understand how. Etymonline gives us the Latin original: ¨monumentum “a monument, memorial structure, statue; votive offering; tomb; memorial record,” literally “something that reminds,” a derivative of monere “to remind, bring to (one’s) recollection, tell (of),” from PIE *moneie- “to make think of, remind,” suffixed (causative) form of root *men- (1) “to think.” Meaning “any enduring evidence or example” is from 1520s; sense of “structure or edifice to commemorate a notable person, action, period, or event” is attested from c. 1600.¨ At its core a monument is a reminder, something which leads us to think about a thing or things from the past. Only in the 16th Century did monuments begin taking on the extra meaning of ¨enduring evidence or example.¨ With this shift in meaning, a monument is less something to cause thoughtfulness (a gravestone may be the purest example of this) and more an expression of power. Statues become the preferred monumental form. Statues are expressions of status, stability, firmly established power. Again from Etymonline: ¨Latin statua “image, statue, monumental figure, representation in metal,” properly “that which is set up,” back-formation from statuere “to cause to stand, set up,” from status “a standing, position,” from past participle stem of stare “to stand,” from PIE *ste-tu-, from root *sta- “to stand, make or be firm.”

     So one type of monument is intended as a thought-provoking reminder of things past, and the other type, even when representing things past, is intended to be something which establishes the power status of things present. This latter type has been set up by someone or some group in order to convey a message, to impose a prescription and a proscription. All prescription is also proscription: do this, don´t do that; think this, don´t think that.

     Consider two statues of Robert E. Lee, both with Lee mounted on his horse Traveller, one being the recently famous one in Charlottesville, the focal point of the ´Unite the Right´ rally in 2017, the other, bearing the name ´Virginia Monument´, standing over one end of Pickett´s Field at Gettysburg, facing across the field toward a statue of George Meade, commander of the Union Army at Gettysburg, atop Cemetery Ridge. The Charlottesville and Gettysburg monuments are so similar and so different. The one is a memorial. The other is a statue. The one calls us to remember. The other calls us to arms and/or obeisance.

     Add to this the memorial to General Lee Skip knows so well, the ¨Recumbent Statue¨ of Lee ¨asleep on the battlefield¨ set in place of the altar in the chapel at Washington & Lee University. Recumbent statue! Our etymology friends have already shown us that a statue stands. At W & L it lies asleep, a statue which does not stand. Until 2014 two Confederate battle flags hung above Lee, which were then removed due to student demands. The students were right to make that demand and, in doing so, enhanced the meaning of the memorial. It depicts, afterall, Lee asleep on the battlefield, Lee no longer at war, Lee at peace, the old warrior finally at peace.

     There´s another memorial on the campus of Washington & Lee, the gravesite of Lee’s horse Traveller. Traveller bore Lee throughout the war, then trailed Lee´s casket at Lee´s funeral. Just months after Lee´s death, Traveller stepped on a nail, contracted tetanus, and died. He was buried at the college but soon thereafter his bones were removed and sent to Rochester, New York, of all places, bleached and put on exhibition. Such is man! Even after the bones were returned years later to W & L, they continued to be a display piece, until in 1971 they were given the honor of reburial. So long did it take before Traveller too could lie asleep on the battlefield. Skip, you were a student at W & L in 1971. Were you there for the end of Traveller´s travels?

     Do we allow the Recumbent Statue and the Virginia Memorial to remain, while removing Lee from Emancipation Park in Charlottesville, consigned to some museum or simply destroyed? Let’s agree that the Charlottesville statue is less about Lee and more about ¨the cause¨ and keeping that cause alive. Does removal help us keep the lost cause lost? Or does it, by virtue of answering one prescription/proscription with a countering prescription/proscription, only incite that cause?

     Since even these questionable monuments are some of our circumstances, would it not be better to respond to them as such? If they are questionable, then let’s ask those questions. There is no more effective way to counter a prescription than to question it, probe it, learn from it. Children understand this naturally. Just as Ortega says, ¨My natural exit toward the universe is through the mountain passes of the Guadarrama or the plain of Ontígola,¨ I can say, ¨My natural exit toward the universe through, among so many other things, Aunt Fanny´ś Cabin and the Lee statue in Charlottesville. Those things might want me not to pass through them and onward toward the universe, but they have the power to prevent me only if I grant them that power.¨

     The Greeks did so many things in their own special way, so it´s not surprising that they had a kind of monument very peculiar to themselves, herms. The following about herms and the god Hermes is from my 9/3/2017 blog post A Meditation on Emerson´s ¨Nature¨; the citations are from Walter Burkert´s Greek Religion, Archaic and Classical.

     “Hermes, the divine trickster, is a figure of ever-changing colours, but his name,  which is explained with fair certainty, points to one single phenomenon: herma is a heap of stones, a monument set up as an elementary form of demarcation.  Everyone who passes by adds a stone to the pile and so announces his presence.  In this way territories are proclaimed and demarcated.”¹  As these herms demarcate boundaries, Hermes is the god of boundaries, both the protection of and transgression of boundaries.  Since taboos are a cultural form of boundary, he is also the god of taboos, the protection of, transgression of and atonement for the transgression of taboos.  He is the patron god of herdsmen, for whom boundaries are so important.  He is also the patron god of thieves and himself performed the theft of Apollo’s sacred cattle (cattle thieves are herdsmen in need of a herd).  As the god of boundaries, he is free to cross any and all boundaries, which makes him the ideal messenger between the rest of the gods and mankind.  “The most uncanny of the boundaries which Hermes crosses is the boundary between the living and the dead … The idea of the river of the underworld with Charon’s ferry was later combined with this, so the Attic lekythoi show Hermes leading souls to Charon.”²  Only Hermes knows the pathway back from Hades to the realm of the living and no one can escape Hades without him as a guide.  Since a gravestone marks the boundary between the living and the dead, Hermes is also the patron god of graves, a gravestone being a special type of herm.  “Successful communication with enemies and strangers is the work of Hermes [the patron of heralds], and the interpreter, hermaneus, owes his name to the god.  The allegorical equation of Hermes with speech tout court, logos, is reflected in our word hermeneutics.”

     Boundary as taboo: prescription and proscription, but at the same time transgression. Boundary as order, as in law and order. Above all boundary between man and world, man and gods; boundary between mortal and immortal, the living mortal and the dead mortal.

     Being alive means making choices. The boundary demarcated by a monument forces choice: stop here! or proceed, if you dare. It turns out that each and every one of our circumstances, large and small, is such a boundary, such a demarcation. 

     William Blake begins his great poem Auguries of Innocence: ¨To see a World in a Grain of Sand, And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your Hand, and Eternity in an Hour¨. The movement is in both directions at once: from grain of sand to world, and world to sand; from flower to heaven and heaven to flower; from palm of hand to infinity and back; from hour to eternity and back. For Ortega it was from Madrid up over the Guadarramas to the rest of Spain and rest of Europe and much else in the world, but also then back. We set our sights on the big stuff, the important stuff, disregarding the fact that there is really no difference between big and small, important and insignificant. Because nothing is truly important since everything is significant.

     Including the Lee monument in Charlottesville. Remove it and you remove something of significance. Not the intended significance, the prescription/proscription in support of the lost cause, but a significance each of us finds on our own by asking it questions and letting it ask us questions back.

     Let’s take another monument as an example: the Edmund Pettus bridge. There are many who argue the Pettus name should be removed from such a place of honor, Pettus having been a Confederate general and, worse yet, Ku Klux Klan leader. The bridge, they say, should be renamed in honor of John Lewis, who was beaten almost to death while trying to cross the bridge on a voting rights march. Wouldn’t taking Pettus´ name away diminish the story? Lewis himself expressed disagreement with renaming the bridge. I had intended to selectively quote from an editorial he co-wrote with Alabama State Senator Terri Sewell in 2015, but the entire statement deserves to be read:

   ¨The Edmund Pettus Bridge is an iconic symbol of the struggle for voting rights in America, and its name is as significant as its imposing structure. The historical irony is an integral part of the complicated history of Selma — a city known for its pivotal role in the Civil War and the civil rights movement. 

     The Edmund Pettus Bridge symbolizes both who we once were, and who we have become today.  The name reflects the fact that this bridge was built in the cradle of the old Confederacy and that Edmund Pettus was a very significant man of his era—Confederate general, U.S. Senator—and yes, a member of the Klu Klux Klan. 

     Renaming the Bridge will never erase its history. Instead of hiding our history behind a new name we must embrace it —the good and the bad.  The historical context of the Edmund Pettus Bridge makes the events of 1965 even more profound.  The irony is that a bridge named after a man who inflamed racial hatred is now known worldwide as a symbol of equality and justice.  It is biblical—what was meant for evil, God uses for good.

     The landmark Voting Rights Act of 1965 was born from the injustices suffered on the Edmund Pettus Bridge, and the Bridge itself represents the portal to which America marched towards a brighter, more unified future. The name of the Bridge will forever be associated with “Blood Sunday” and the marches from Selma to Montgomery, not the man for whom it was named.

     America is not a perfect union. Rather our democracy is constantly evolving as each generation challenges its ideals and values, pushing us forward to greater equality and inclusion. From the fight for racial equality, to the struggle for gender equality and to our current quest to end discrimination based on sexual orientation – the history of America has been a journey from struggle to redemption. With each new generation, we are given new opportunities to eliminate the divisions that separate us.

     We can no more rename the Edmund Pettus Bridge than we can erase this nation’s history of racial intolerance and gender bias. Changing the name of the Bridge would compromise the historical integrity of the voting rights movement.

     We must tell our story fully rather than hide the chapters we wish did not exist for without adversity there can be no redemption. Children should be taught the context of the events that unfolded on the Bridge, and why its name is emblematic of the fight for the very soul of this nation– the democratic values of equality and justice.

     Symbols are indeed powerful. Keeping the name of the Bridge is not an endorsement of the man who bears its name but rather an acknowledgement that the name of the Bridge today is synonymous with the Voting Rights Movement which changed the face of this nation and the world.

     We must resist the temptation to revise history. The Edmund Pettus name represents the truth of the American story. You can change the name but you cannot change the facts of history. As Americans we need to learn the unvarnished truth about what happened in Selma. In the end, it is the lessons learned from our past that will instruct our future. We should never forget that ordinary people can collectively achieve social change through the discipline and philosophy of nonviolence.¨

     Nota bene: ¨We must tell our story fully rather than hide the chapters we wish did not exist…¨

Freud and others have taught us that memory is selective. Nietzsche and others have taught us that perception is selective. Quantum physics teaches us that things are not things but rather events and that there is no event unless it is at least potentially perceptible (quantifiable) and, yes, all perception is selective.

     Do we then shrug our shoulders and say, if everything is subject to selective perception, of which selective memory is a subset, then why the effort to be inclusive instead of selective? If Ortega had been satisfied with being a provincial Madridleňo, he would not have expanded his horizons beyond the Guadarrama mountains or the Ontígola plain. Since Richard Spencer does not want to fully embrace the world he lives in, he dedicates himself to serving the lost cause. If we in turn demand the removal of the Lee monument in Charlottesville, we too then, like Richard Spencer, deny ourselves full contact with the world which is ours.

     Why don’t we call it the Pettus/Lewis Bridge? Something tells me that John Lewis would have loved that and Edmund Pettus would have hated it.

     Thirty-eight bottles of beer on the wall and only thirty days before voting wraps up! Take eight down, pass them around! Who knows what´s soon to happen?