Update from DK

My family and I have been in Copenhagen, Denmark for a week with four students from my home institution, Marian University. The point of this portion of our stay was for me to complete a course I offered on comparing different aspects of the United States and Denmark. One of the "outings" we did was to venture down to the University of Southern Denmark to visit colleagues of mine who had left the Copenhagen Business School to take up posts at SDU in Odense, DK. We had a brief seminar with a few of the folks there, including an American scholar who currently holds the Fulbright I had in 2008 and whose book jacket appears in this post.

Sarah Elkind spoke with my students and I as part of a small seminar on comparative history and gave a wonderful summary of her work in comparative environmental history and public policy. I offer the cover art for her first book as a way to encourage readers to check it out and to look for her next book on Los Angeles which will be published by UNC Press in the relatively near future.

Among the interesting stories Sarah treated us to was an account of how Los Angeles allowed a truly remarkable form of wildcatting. It seems that the land on which sat many an oil rig had been subdivided for houses--meaning the plots were small. So small, Sarah explained, that the legs of the rigs would cross over each other because they sat quite literally on top of each other. And if fire struck...well, you can imagine the remarkable results.

When we discussed Sarah's first book in which she compared water policies in two bay area cities--Boston and Oakland--she gave us some interesting insight into why comparative history is so hard and also so important to do. The main problem is self-evident: one can always find profound differences between two places so why even try a comparison. We pushed Sarah on this point and asked why she had attempted such a study anyway. Her response reminded me of the kind of explanations that William H. McNeil often gave when asked similar questions.

She initially attempted a comparative study as a challenge put to her by a Ph.D. advisor. The hope was that by incorporating a comparison into her study she might broaden her work on Boston and make her manuscript more attractive to a larger audience. But when she completed the work, she grew to appreciate (as McNeil often noted) the emergence of what seemed like universal questions about the operation of historical change and choices. In other words, through comparative study Sarah found herself asking historical questions that she would not have otherwise.

The field of comparative studies has many able practitioners, and Sarah is certainly yet another good historian to read. I would also direct your attention to those who provided some very interesting comments to my original post on the subject.

Update from DK

My family and I have been in Copenhagen, Denmark for a week with four students from my home institution, Marian University. The point of this portion of our stay was for me to complete a course I offered on comparing different aspects of the United States and Denmark. One of the "outings" we did was to venture down to the University of Southern Denmark to visit colleagues of mine who had left the Copenhagen Business School to take up posts at SDU in Odense, DK. We had a brief seminar with a few of the folks there, including an American scholar who currently holds the Fulbright I had in 2008 and whose book jacket appears in this post.

Sarah Elkind spoke with my students and I as part of a small seminar on comparative history and gave a wonderful summary of her work in comparative environmental history and public policy. I offer the cover art for her first book as a way to encourage readers to check it out and to look for her next book on Los Angeles which will be published by UNC Press in the relatively near future.

Among the interesting stories Sarah treated us to was an account of how Los Angeles allowed a truly remarkable form of wildcatting. It seems that the land on which sat many an oil rig had been subdivided for houses--meaning the plots were small. So small, Sarah explained, that the legs of the rigs would cross over each other because they sat quite literally on top of each other. And if fire struck...well, you can imagine the remarkable results.

When we discussed Sarah's first book in which she compared water policies in two bay area cities--Boston and Oakland--she gave us some interesting insight into why comparative history is so hard and also so important to do. The main problem is self-evident: one can always find profound differences between two places so why even try a comparison. We pushed Sarah on this point and asked why she had attempted such a study anyway. Her response reminded me of the kind of explanations that William H. McNeil often gave when asked similar questions.

She initially attempted a comparative study as a challenge put to her by a Ph.D. advisor. The hope was that by incorporating a comparison into her study she might broaden her work on Boston and make her manuscript more attractive to a larger audience. But when she completed the work, she grew to appreciate (as McNeil often noted) the emergence of what seemed like universal questions about the operation of historical change and choices. In other words, through comparative study Sarah found herself asking historical questions that she would not have otherwise.

The field of comparative studies has many able practitioners, and Sarah is certainly yet another good historian to read. I would also direct your attention to those who provided some very interesting comments to my original post on the subject.

Comparative Myths

Does anyone find value in comparative studies? I know we have studies in the Atlantic World, transatlantic, Pacific Rim, and African Diaspora, to name just a few. But none are comparative, correct? I have a graduate school friend named Derek Catsam who does comparative work on South Africa and the United States (following in the footsteps of George Frederickson), but he also does straight up single nation history. You might know him from his latest book, Freedom's Mainline about the Freedom Rides.

I ask the question above because I am about to head over to Denmark for a month and I am taking four students from Marian with me (and my family). The course I created for them is entitled, US-DK: Opposites Instruct. A bit too cute of title? Well, I try (and fail). The point of the course is to look at a nation that is almost the photographic negative of the US. The students and I spent the spring semester reading primarily in three areas: education, religion and foreign policy. When we compared the two countries, the students were suppose to recognize what might seem like very distinct and hopefully instructive differences. In Denmark, education is centralized and fully-funded by the state; so, for example, there is free pre-school and all college students go free and get a stipend. In foreign policy, Denmark is part of every multi-national group, otherwise it would be largely forgotten and relatively irrelevant. In religion, the Danes recognize a state church--the evangelical Lutheran church--but only attend services for ceremonial purposes, for baptisms, confirmations, and weddings. Burials are paid for by the national church as well.

Of course, the economic punch-line to these contrasts is that the Danes have a very progressive income tax system, in which the majority of the population pays over 35% of their salaries to the state. The highest bracket is around 65%, though there is a movement to lower that to below 60%. I do tell the students that during the first half of Reagan's presidency, the highest tax rate in the United States was above 70%, now it is below 35%. The question that the students return to consistently is what do the Danes get for their taxes and what do Americans get for lower taxes.

But I also push the students to consider things that exist beyond the financial and that reside in the mythical. The reading I assign along these lines includes a classic essay from William H. McNeil entitled, "The Care and Repair of Public Myth." What makes McNeil's essay especially nice for this course is that he addresses ways to pick up on things in a culture that have no literal documentation. The Danes, as I told my students, will answer many questions about why they do things with the stock phrase: "because it is Danish." And while that response can be frustrating it is also honest to a degree that one can't get by pouring through archival sources.

But there is another aspect of McNeil's essay that I also like. He wrote this in 1982, as Ronald Reagan and his administration were dreaming up Morning in America (and huge tax cuts). This was also the nadir of American exceptionalism--unless one wanted to argue that the United States was exceptionally evil. In light of his era, McNeil noted that America had a need for myths, perhaps they weren't the ones being peddled by Reagan, but myths had a place in society no matter how cynical the contemporary moment had become. He suggested placing the American experience in a larger global context in order to see that the nation was not unique but embedded in trends that gave rise to both the best and worst aspect of the nation's history. McNeil contended that doing so was "the best way to start to recognize that the American way of life is no more than one variation among many to which humanity adheres."

My question for today is this: do others find utility in comparative studies? And if so, how best to we go about doing what McNeil encourages us to do?

Comparative Myths

Does anyone find value in comparative studies? I know we have studies in the Atlantic World, transatlantic, Pacific Rim, and African Diaspora, to name just a few. But none are comparative, correct? I have a graduate school friend named Derek Catsam who does comparative work on South Africa and the United States (following in the footsteps of George Frederickson), but he also does straight up single nation history. You might know him from his latest book, Freedom's Mainline about the Freedom Rides.

I ask the question above because I am about to head over to Denmark for a month and I am taking four students from Marian with me (and my family). The course I created for them is entitled, US-DK: Opposites Instruct. A bit too cute of title? Well, I try (and fail). The point of the course is to look at a nation that is almost the photographic negative of the US. The students and I spent the spring semester reading primarily in three areas: education, religion and foreign policy. When we compared the two countries, the students were suppose to recognize what might seem like very distinct and hopefully instructive differences. In Denmark, education is centralized and fully-funded by the state; so, for example, there is free pre-school and all college students go free and get a stipend. In foreign policy, Denmark is part of every multi-national group, otherwise it would be largely forgotten and relatively irrelevant. In religion, the Danes recognize a state church--the evangelical Lutheran church--but only attend services for ceremonial purposes, for baptisms, confirmations, and weddings. Burials are paid for by the national church as well.

Of course, the economic punch-line to these contrasts is that the Danes have a very progressive income tax system, in which the majority of the population pays over 35% of their salaries to the state. The highest bracket is around 65%, though there is a movement to lower that to below 60%. I do tell the students that during the first half of Reagan's presidency, the highest tax rate in the United States was above 70%, now it is below 35%. The question that the students return to consistently is what do the Danes get for their taxes and what do Americans get for lower taxes.

But I also push the students to consider things that exist beyond the financial and that reside in the mythical. The reading I assign along these lines includes a classic essay from William H. McNeil entitled, "The Care and Repair of Public Myth." What makes McNeil's essay especially nice for this course is that he addresses ways to pick up on things in a culture that have no literal documentation. The Danes, as I told my students, will answer many questions about why they do things with the stock phrase: "because it is Danish." And while that response can be frustrating it is also honest to a degree that one can't get by pouring through archival sources.

But there is another aspect of McNeil's essay that I also like. He wrote this in 1982, as Ronald Reagan and his administration were dreaming up Morning in America (and huge tax cuts). This was also the nadir of American exceptionalism--unless one wanted to argue that the United States was exceptionally evil. In light of his era, McNeil noted that America had a need for myths, perhaps they weren't the ones being peddled by Reagan, but myths had a place in society no matter how cynical the contemporary moment had become. He suggested placing the American experience in a larger global context in order to see that the nation was not unique but embedded in trends that gave rise to both the best and worst aspect of the nation's history. McNeil contended that doing so was "the best way to start to recognize that the American way of life is no more than one variation among many to which humanity adheres."

My question for today is this: do others find utility in comparative studies? And if so, how best to we go about doing what McNeil encourages us to do?

Faith In Taxes

I am happy to be a part of this blog and therefore need to apologize for the lack of posts over the last few months. With my family, I have been living abroad for the past 10 months in Copenhagen as part of a Fulbright. I taught and wrote at the Center for the Study of the Americas at the Copenhagen Business School and lived in the very delightful commune or district of Frederiksberg. And like many other Americans who get a taste of Scandinavian life, I was impressed by the quality of life most people in Denmark enjoy. The universal health care, public transportation, excellent pre-school care, and incredibly well-maintained bicycle lanes were simply made available to us for free. Of course, those services come with a price for the Danes in a tax rate that hovers between 50-60%. Well-nigh outrageous by American standards, or so friends and family exclaimed. And yet, I think I could learn to like taxes.

I had the rather strange experience of participating in a film made by a well-known Danish director for the national tax agency. It seemed that the agency was going through a period of re-organization and the morale of employees was a bit low as many had to shift positions and take on new tasks. The Danish government thought a film about the great good the tax agency does might boost spirits by showing the rather significant role taxes play in giving meaning to being Danish.

We might chuckle at this, ah-ha that was what Soren Kierkegaard had in mind! Man's search for meaning is found in his tax bill.

Well, in a way, the Danes do seem to embrace a somewhat existential approach to taxes: paying them is a leap of faith but this faith is not blind; like Americans, Danes complain about their taxes as well. But they do so in a way Kierkegaard might have appreciated. Their faith in the taxes does not translate into an absolute faith in the government--they don't leave the world up to their elected (and non-elected) officials. Danes constantly critique the results of the tax system but don't doubt that it needs to exist more or less at the present level of taxation. In this way, they profess a faith in taxes that provides the kind of civil religious unity that Americans get from their faith in abstraction notions of freedom and liberty. Maybe they are Hamiltonian in this way--creating a nation through the burden of taxation.

I went to Copenhagen to work on a book about civil religion and war in post-1945 America. I gave quite a few talks about the general role religion plays in American life and politics, especially in regard to framing and understanding the nation's role international affairs. What I came back with, though, was a new appreciation for faith in things that seem decidedly mundane. While my colleagues, students, and audiences rarely professed faith in an organized religion or an otherworldly God or even in great national myths (Danes joke that they are a country made by great military defeats), they often spoke profoundly about the stuff that binds generations of Danish folk together.

Danes have faith in taxes because their taxes support the welfare state--an entity that has a dual nature similar to the role served by the U.S. Constitution and the creed it embodies. While the Danish welfare system has not existed as long or with the kind of abstract power of the American Constitution, it has provided a surprisingly vibrant way for Danes to understand, debate and assess the dimensions of the common good. Quite unfortunately, the welfare state has also become something to guard, especially against what the Danish Right call the 'new immigrants.'

Nevertheless, as I get deeper into the field of public theology and civil religion, I am intrigued by what might be gained by comparing two types of existential faiths that on the suface appear to be very different. To that end, I recommend a group of Danish scholars who have begun a transatlantic project on beliefs and offer some preliminary notes and questions about this matter: Peter Andersen, Peter Gundelach, and Peter Luchau, "Religion in Europe and the United States: Assumptions, survey evidence, and some suggestions," Nordic Journal of Religion and Society (2008) 21 (1): 61-74.

As Americans enter into what will surely be a hot debate over universal health care, it might be of some benefit to consider how Danes (and others) have developed a faith in something as mundane as a tax system without losing their soul to the state it created.

Faith In Taxes

I am happy to be a part of this blog and therefore need to apologize for the lack of posts over the last few months. With my family, I have been living abroad for the past 10 months in Copenhagen as part of a Fulbright. I taught and wrote at the Center for the Study of the Americas at the Copenhagen Business School and lived in the very delightful commune or district of Frederiksberg. And like many other Americans who get a taste of Scandinavian life, I was impressed by the quality of life most people in Denmark enjoy. The universal health care, public transportation, excellent pre-school care, and incredibly well-maintained bicycle lanes were simply made available to us for free. Of course, those services come with a price for the Danes in a tax rate that hovers between 50-60%. Well-nigh outrageous by American standards, or so friends and family exclaimed. And yet, I think I could learn to like taxes.

I had the rather strange experience of participating in a film made by a well-known Danish director for the national tax agency. It seemed that the agency was going through a period of re-organization and the morale of employees was a bit low as many had to shift positions and take on new tasks. The Danish government thought a film about the great good the tax agency does might boost spirits by showing the rather significant role taxes play in giving meaning to being Danish.

We might chuckle at this, ah-ha that was what Soren Kierkegaard had in mind! Man's search for meaning is found in his tax bill.

Well, in a way, the Danes do seem to embrace a somewhat existential approach to taxes: paying them is a leap of faith but this faith is not blind; like Americans, Danes complain about their taxes as well. But they do so in a way Kierkegaard might have appreciated. Their faith in the taxes does not translate into an absolute faith in the government--they don't leave the world up to their elected (and non-elected) officials. Danes constantly critique the results of the tax system but don't doubt that it needs to exist more or less at the present level of taxation. In this way, they profess a faith in taxes that provides the kind of civil religious unity that Americans get from their faith in abstraction notions of freedom and liberty. Maybe they are Hamiltonian in this way--creating a nation through the burden of taxation.

I went to Copenhagen to work on a book about civil religion and war in post-1945 America. I gave quite a few talks about the general role religion plays in American life and politics, especially in regard to framing and understanding the nation's role international affairs. What I came back with, though, was a new appreciation for faith in things that seem decidedly mundane. While my colleagues, students, and audiences rarely professed faith in an organized religion or an otherworldly God or even in great national myths (Danes joke that they are a country made by great military defeats), they often spoke profoundly about the stuff that binds generations of Danish folk together.

Danes have faith in taxes because their taxes support the welfare state--an entity that has a dual nature similar to the role served by the U.S. Constitution and the creed it embodies. While the Danish welfare system has not existed as long or with the kind of abstract power of the American Constitution, it has provided a surprisingly vibrant way for Danes to understand, debate and assess the dimensions of the common good. Quite unfortunately, the welfare state has also become something to guard, especially against what the Danish Right call the 'new immigrants.'

Nevertheless, as I get deeper into the field of public theology and civil religion, I am intrigued by what might be gained by comparing two types of existential faiths that on the suface appear to be very different. To that end, I recommend a group of Danish scholars who have begun a transatlantic project on beliefs and offer some preliminary notes and questions about this matter: Peter Andersen, Peter Gundelach, and Peter Luchau, "Religion in Europe and the United States: Assumptions, survey evidence, and some suggestions," Nordic Journal of Religion and Society (2008) 21 (1): 61-74.

As Americans enter into what will surely be a hot debate over universal health care, it might be of some benefit to consider how Danes (and others) have developed a faith in something as mundane as a tax system without losing their soul to the state it created.