Tuesday, June 5, 2007

Logbook 7: Encyclopedia - Part 2


That Eden Hills, Oregon, had become something of a retreat in the Cascade Mountains for artists, musicians and assorted intellectuals made it a perfect location for Lost Goat Coffee House.

Our place is situated between the jetties of Lake Eden Landing and the railroad yards where massive diesel-electric engines assemble trains of timber, hops, filberts and wheat to help satiate America's voracious appetite for Northwest commodities. Amid this base of commerce and adjacent to the medicinal waters of Lake Eden, Lost Goat Coffee House parked its La Marzocco GB/5 espresso machine, hung its distinctive shingle and welcomed thinkers and characters of every sort.

We are situated between nature at its best and commerce at its most ambitious. On a clear day you can see the pristine peaks of the Cascade. Mount Jefferson, the North, Middle and South Sister, Three-Fingered Jack and Mt. Washington are discernible in spring, and their snow-capped summits glisten in the afternoon sun. From the air, one can see a patchwork of clear-cut logging operations. The varying shades of green -- from lightest to darkest -- reveal the lifespan of the Northwest forest. The darkest greens are reserved for the now uncommon dots of old-growth forest, where massive firs with trunks bigger than a boxcar soar close to two hundred feet into the air.

The slopes of Eden Hills are populated with fine estates that testify to the glories of Oregon living and the prosperity of our town. Often including an acre or two, these homes, though grand, are unpretentious. Simple living always has been admired in Eden Hills, and those who make too much of a show of their wealth are scorned. At one time in its history, Eden Hills legislated sumptuary laws that prohibited the use of jewels and gold, placed a limit on funeral expenses, and restricted the use of motorized vehicles. Granted this was during a time of zealous Victorian simplicity, but these laws nonetheless established local mores for decades to come. More ambitious cities, especially Eugene, regarded these laws as invasive of human liberty, but the counter-argument was (and is) that lavish living is anathema to happiness and a paved road to bankruptcy. Occasionally in a corner at Lost Goat Coffee House, one can hear the debate rehashed in modern terms, and for the student of local history the perspective is highly enlightening, if only vaguely entertaining. Consider that a turn-of-the-century visitor to Eden Hills once wrote in an Eastern newspaper that our town then was "rich because of its liberty and its commerce and often sees everything around it in flames without being in any way affected."

Government in Eden Hills is highly progressive, and to the extent that nationalistic boundary allows, quite apart from the norm, and definitely in contrast to our larger and more ambitious neighbor, Eugene (how often the residents of that town must thank their lucky stars that their founder wasn't named Ralph!). Eden Hills stops short of being sovereign, although recent scholarship traces its history to a band of Native Americans called the Kalpooyas. If such a fact could be documented, Eden Hills could claim sovereignty and build a casino. (The public relations problem, of course, would be to reconcile the placidity of Lake Eden with the garish layout of a modern Indian casino -- noble savage indeed! See Lake Tahoe.)

Where most Oregon cities elect city or town councils, Eden Hills blazed its own trail with respect to the concept of representative government. One of its early leaders, borrowing his ideas from Rousseau, eschewed the notion of representative government and advocated instead for direct government of the people. For the first 20 years of its existence, Eden Hills held monthly meetings in an outdoor log pavilion near Lake Eden Landing. Residents would elect a meeting manager who would call the assembly to order, and the creation of a vocalized agenda would commence from among the participants. If accepted to the day's agenda, matters were then discussed in open and ultimately put before a direct vote of the people. But the population grew and the assemblies became large; town business no longer could be conducted efficiently. To address this problem, a Grand Council was eventually formed, and four syndics were elected. Scholars of European history will note that this system closely replicated that of some of 18th century Europe's most respected communities, among them Geneva itself.

Perhaps as a result of its foundation of direct, participatory government, Eden Hills hasn't been inclined to levy unnecessary taxes on its citizenry. Therefore, despite its wealth, its state is relatively weak. Other than for basic needs such as police and fire protection, infrastructure such as roads and bridges, a dependable ferry system, and public services limited to free, compulsory education and a public library system, Eden Hills taxpayers have balked at most other progressive ideas.

Its library is grand. Located among the bustling commerce area of Lake Eden Landing, the library contains more than 110,000 volumes. Not to be overshadowed by modern methods of enlightenment, the library has been among Oregon's most aggressive at providing access to the world wide web.

Its early history, however, was troubled. As library proponents expanded access to common knowledge, early church leaders fretted that the collection included several books that, in their view, weakened the populace's understanding of its Lord, which had, in their view, been most precisely described by John Calvin. When a grand new building was proposed to house the growing book collection, church leaders, who wielded political power from their pulpits, threatened to derail the project unless a committee of their choosing could be formed to review each volume of the collection.

Fearing the worst, city leaders, headed by a free-thinking scholar named Jonathon Volatari, worked out a compromise, and the building even today evidences the result. Volatari was willing to concede to the church leaders an element of their doctrine in return for the freedom to stock the library's shelves with "all literature and science known to man." Volatari's reasoning was that irrespective of the church fathers' dictum, the people would find their own way with up-to-date information and a free flow of ideas. He feared not so much the church's preachments as its power to censor and withhold ideas.

Church leaders, while recognizing their concession of editorial control, reasoned that the public pulpit afforded them by the inscription over the entrance doors of a grand public library would both trump and shape the populace's hunger for ideas. They eagerly endorsed Volatari's idea, and set to work on a Latin inscription suitable to their doctrine. The unexpected outcome, to which Volatari and his supporters had irreversibly committed, was the precise wording of the inscription. Volatari had not anticipated that church leaders would focus their rare opportunity for broad public exposure (a modern equivalent would be television) on their primary disagreement with Rome. They came up with a cleverly worded notation that includes (in Latin, thankfully!) the assertion that the pope is "The Antichrist."

Not surprisingly, this has been the subject of considerable debate over the years in Eden Hills, if not a blight on its otherwise honorable intellectual history. For one thing, the church and the state can hardly be separated (an American First Amendment priniciple, still) if a public building in a peaceful Oregon community so boldly takes sides in an epochal division in church history. Secondly, the Catholics in our town aren't too happy about the disrespect shown the leader of their church. And thirdly, the more zealous of the modern protestant churches, themselves grown somewhat insular by the inane claims of religious zeal frequently heard from today's political leaders in Washington, have a variety of other suggestions when it comes to naming the Antichrist.

It's unlikely the inscription will survive, and for many of us at Lost Goat Coffee House, the animated arguments over the issue will be missed, primarily because we fear the topics that might replace them.

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

Your attribution to an "East Coast" newspaper is inaccurate. After extensive research in my library (where we have no inscription over the doorway, but te way!) I discovered a similar description of Geneva, Switzerland. Please recheck.

Anonymous said...

I'm surpised that a public building in Oregon would still have anything on it related to religion. Are you sure it's still there? This is outrageous and should be immediately removed. Church and state should not be mixed up. What if the Sunnis got in control?

Anonymous said...

HEY!

see that sentence waaaaaaay up at the top of the blog, just under the title?

count ten words in.........

Anonymous said...

An intriguing blend of utopian and realism, politics and humanism. Calvin the humanist, and papal hater.

Anonymous said...

The village of Eden Hills must be busy this time of year with planting and the multitude of festivals held each weekend. I must say though, I miss the narrative of the folks and doings.

Anonymous said...

What I hear goes like this. The narrator of Eden Hills took to the hills himself, climbing and likewise researching in libraries for materials on this fantastic place. Hope he returns with a headful.