Land-grant colleges are state schools founded to teach “agricultural and mechanical arts.” Today, many are among the nation’s largest research universities. In this post I’ll share some thoughts about how they came about.
Let’s begin with conventional wisdom. Land-grant colleges “emerged from an idealistic concern for the adaptation of existing educational resources to a changing society . . . .” [1] Oddly, this somewhat grandiose explanation for the land-grants comes from John Simon, a historian who deftly investigated the politics behind the 1862 act that authorized such schools. He also recognized that the typical American didn’t have much truck with higher education in the mid-nineteenth century. One agricultural school was called the “Farmers’ High School” because the title “Farmers’ College” would sound too fancy.
The American university system is remarkably durable, even though Its failings are clearly visible. Colleges and universities roll on, with the only sign of weakness a so-far modest decline in attendance. This is in spite of mounting costs; scandals like admission bribing and cheating; equally scandalous student debt; high drop-out rates; grade inflation; etc.
In February 2018, I wrote an article about whether universities will face a “crackup” or if they have the stability to keep going as they have. I proposed that we might learn something from other institutions that persist over time, such as the European Catholic Church, especially in the medieval period (500-1500). (This was not an original idea but I haven’t seen it developed by others.)
Like universities, the Catholic Church was a complex body with many components. While it had a single head, the pope, it also had parish churches, charitable hospitals, cathedral schools, monasteries, convents, and bishoprics, all scattered widely geographically, as are our universities and their components.
Wouldn’t it be rewarding to sit back and read a comprehensive history of the United States written by a historian who has thought long and carefully about how America became what it is? Someone who could guide you through its triumphs and tragedies and show how they are linked? Surely the time spent would be worth as much as hours devoted to the latest biography by David McCullough or Ron Chernow: it would give you a sense of the full story.
Now you can do just that. Wilfred M. McClay has written Land of Hope: An Invitation to the Great American Story.[1] It’s meant to be used as a textbook in homes, private schools, and charter schools—places where the dictates of public textbook commissions and education-school ideologies don’t hold sway. But it’s also written for “readers, young and old.”
The Wall Street Journal has described Land of Hope as a “counterpoint” to A People’s History. That popular history by the late Howard Zinn recounts the story of the United States as a country in which power dominates over the oppressed. Zinn wanted to tell the story of the victims—the Arawak Indians in Hispaniola, for example, rather than Columbus, the European intruder who “discovered” them.
I’ve previously observed that few historians are military historians and so some basic questions about wars tend to go unanswered. However, I have found a book that fills in much of the gap.
Years ago, a critic challenged William McNeil’s magnum opus, The Rise of the West, [1] by saying that his book lacked military analysis—it “lost track of the interaction between military technology and political patterns.” So McNeill wrote a book about just that subject, The Pursuit of Power: Technology, Armed Force, and Society since A.D. 1000. [2]
I’d like to share two items from his book. One is astounding, but perhaps true. The other addresses the frequently asked questions, “Why did Europe go to War in 1914 and why did the war last so long?”
We are all haunted by George Santayana’s famous statement: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” We say it often, but is it true?
I welcome others’ opinions, but I have my doubts. Let me offer three reasons:
First, do we ever really understand the past? Could the Civil War—the most deadly war in American history—have been prevented? Possibly. But if so, how would slavery have ended? Avoiding one tragedy might have perpetuated another. So what have we learned about the Civil War that could possibly guide us in the future?
Second, let’s suppose we understand the past. Can we know where to apply that understanding and where not? Nearly everyone agrees that World War I was a pointless war and a horrific tragedy; in contrast, historians generally agree that World War II “had to” be fought, and it was the Allies’ finest hour.
