Daniel Noah Moses, The Promise of Progress: The Life and Work of Lewis Henry Morgan (2009)

This is a wonderfully written, sensitive, nuanced, and persuasive account of Morgan, a 19th century pioneer of anthropology and social theory. Morgan was the only author cited by Darwin, Marx, and Freud. For me this is not just any old good book. It's a bridge back to a meaningful experience and set of friends. Daniel is a close friend, whom I got to know more than 20 years ago when were both teaching the sophomore tutorial in Social Studies at Harvard. This great books course, in which a handful of smart students and I read and discussed Rousseau, Smith, Mill, Weber, Freud, Beauvoir, Habermas, and others, is where I cut my teeth as a teacher and has shaped my approach to teaching ever since. (It's no accident that teaching the First-Year Seminar class has consistently been my favorite class to teach at BHSEC Queens). On Thursdays, Daniel, Paul Lachelier, Thomas Ponniah, and I would meet, usually at Grendel's, for nachos and drinks, to debate the world. After reading this book, I see why Daniel was the perfect teacher in Social Studies 10. Daniel paints a vivid, persuasive picture of Morgan's life and thought in an industrializing America. Born in 1818 to an affluent, educated, Calvinist family in the Finger Lakes region of NY State, which benefitted from the nearby Erie Canal, Morgan's thinking combined classical reverence for the virtues with liberal confidence in progress. Early on he became fascinated by, and drawn to, the remnants of the nearby Iroquois Nation. He befriended some of them and spent considerable time living with them, which launched his scholarly career as an ethnographer (which he pursued alongside his more traditional career as a lawyer). The Iroquois' tribal conception of property seemed utterly different than the Europeans' and convinced Morgan that kinship was both malleable and profoundly important. Eventually, he would expand his study of kinship, and its varieties, to encompass the rest of the world and changes over the long run. Morgan's mature theory, as presented in Ancient Society, was teleological - there was a single path, from simple kinship to more complex (and ultimately, the European nuclear family), along which different societies were travelling at different paces. Through this teleology, Morgan remained hopeful that the communal aspects of the Iroquois could be reconciled with the gains made by individualistic societies. Namely, while the Iroquois were fated to disappear, Morgan hoped that progress would lead full circle back to a newly invigorated community.

Jonathan I. Israel, The Dutch Republic: Its Rise, Greatness, and Fall, 1477-1806 (1995)

Despite having studied European history for many, many years, I knew embarrassingly little about the Dutch Republic in the early modern period. I had a vague sense that it had developed in parallel with early modern England in many respects: as constitutional polity, highly commercialized economy, global trading and colonial power, and pioneer of religious toleration. In many of these respects, I thought it was somehow even more advanced than its cross-Channel neighbor. And I knew that William and Mary of Holland had become king and queen during the English Glorious Revolution of 1688-9. But while I knew a fair amount about 17th century England leading up to 1688, I really had no idea of the backstory to the Dutch Republic's modernity. I didn't know, for example, why what I took to be the Dutch monarch was called the Stadholder. With these motivations, and after having appreciated Israel's book on Dutch trade (Dutch Primacy in World Trade), I turned to this highly praised book. I can't claim that I read every single one of its 1130 pages, but I read most of the pages on the nation's rise and greatness. I knew from the previous book of Israel's that I had read that he rejected purely materialist accounts of historical change (a la Braudel or Marx). Nonetheless, he acknowledges the importance of these underlying conditions and begins his account with some fundamental distinctions between the Low Countries north and south of the rivers (Rhine and Maas) that became pronounced during the 14th century. To the north, there was one large historical state (Holland), in which there was a wide urbanization. In the south, there were two states (Brabant and Flanders), in both of which a few larger cities predominated. My main interest was in the political evolution of the Dutch Republic. It's a bewilderingly complex tale, involving partly self-governing, increasingly commercial cities; regions (Holland) embedded in larger entities (once the revolt against Spain starts, the Union of Utrecht, 1579; the Holy Roman Empire); dynastic holdings (Burgundian, Habsburger); religious tensions (between Catholicism and Reformed Churches, later between different tendences within the Reformed, and also a smattering of Lutherans and Mennonites), etc. The Stadholder or Stadholders were counts or governors of, to begin with, the dynasties and, later, independent governors of regions (Holland, Friesland, etc.) Often several of the regions had the same Stadholder. For much of the period the Stadholders were from the House of Orange, whose ancestral seat was in southern France (talk about confusing!). A second powerful position, sometimes working in concert with the Stadholders, but also at times in opposition, were Advocates or Pensioneers of the single largest state in the north, Holland. Throughout the period, but especially once the Dutch Revolt against Habsburg Spain starts (1572), great power politics is a constant concern - the Dutch against or with Spain, France, England, various principalities along the Rhine, etc. The basic story of how the Dutch established themselves as a republic fits with Mancur Olson's argument: a contest for domination ended in stalemate and, ultimately, compromise. The two parties were the Orangists (Stadholder - who at times became somewhat monarchical, but also at times enjoyed more popular support) and states party (Advocates/Pensioneers of Holland). The contest started earlier than in England (late 16th century), but compromise was only achieved at roughly the same time (1680s). Two tidbits that illustrate the efficacy and modernity of this society: in 1670, Amsterdam was the first city in the world to introduce public street lights. And the 1688 invasion of England, involving 20,000 troops and 500 ships, was the most impressive logistical feat of any early modern state. I'm deeply impressed by Israel's mastery of such a complex story. Nonetheless, his "seamless" telling of this story is grist for the mill of my argument that historians need more social science discipline (an argument I hope to make and publish down the road).

Harvey Mansfield, The Rise and Fall of Rational Control: The History of Modern Political Philosophy (2025)

This was a challenging book to read, and now to write about. Mansfield gives a very close reading to eight thinkers of what he calls "rational control:" Machiavelli, who initiated modern political theory; Hobbes; Locke; Rousseau; Kant; Hegel; Marx; and Nietzsche. I often found myself struggling to follow Mansfield's interpretations. Partly, perhaps, this was because I simply knew much less about most of these thinkers than I had assumed. Partly, perhaps, because Mansfield, a Straussian, offered idiosyncratic takes, at least some of the time - but when? (Straussians posit the ability to decipher hidden meanings in the great works, which speak to each other, but not to the common man). And partly, finally, because Mansfield sometimes didn't explain key terms and assumptions sufficiently clearly, at least for my taste. For example, what was the ancient and medieval thinking that Machiavelli was rejecting? Eventually, Mansfield mentions virtue (including justice and nobility), natural law, and God. And what does rational control mean, exactly? Often, Mansfield set this idea aside and focused on apparently related ideas, such as "necessity" (in the case of Machiavelli) - without explicating the connection. Necessity, it seems, means self-preservation. I don't know whether other political philosophers would agree that Machiavelli is as pivotal as Mansfield makes out. Or for the reasons Mansfield gives. I wish I'd taken Mansfield's course, which provides the basis for the book, when I was an undergrad and had the chance to discuss the ideas in section. Even better, I wish I'd first taken his complementary course on ancient and medieval political thought. (Of course, as an undergrad, I'd be even less prepared to follow his argument than now.) One of the truly new ideas for me was Mansfield's argument that Rousseau - not Hegel - had historicized reason. At the end of the book, Mansfield surprised me. I thought he might argue for a return to the ancient emphasis on virtue. But instead he suggests we need a "reworked liberalism," one that emphasizes individual honor rather than materal accumulation.