Memory and Place: Two Case Studies

Memory and Place: Two Case Studies Douglas Allen Fictions abound in the creation of memorials. Every memorial, every monument is a kind of re-creation—of a person, a deed, or an event—that seeks to bind future generations to a moral lesson, if not an actual truth. In the case of heroic events, no matter how difficult, this would seem straightforward: resurrect the memory and convert it to architectural form that appropriately dignifies it. “Remember this,” the memorial would seem to say. “This was important—others sacrificed something of themselves here for you.” In such cases, fiction may be present only as hyperbolic aggrandizement necessary to secure moral obliga- tion. But when the need arises to commemorate events associated primarily with senseless tragedy, the path toward remembrance is often less clear. In the case of the Oklahoma City Federal Building, a field of empty chairs was used to mark where ordinary people fell victim to an attack on a government whose connection to them was merely as an employer. In other circumstances, a tragedy may be so painful as to require the complete erasure of its memory. In this case, later generations may resurrect what their forebears needed to forget. In the light of time, they may be able to give those events proper place at the table of memory. This may even take the form of a warning: “Remember this. Your forebears were shameful. Don’t be like them.” In yet other instances, however, the event may be so painful that, like the victim of some terrible abuse, the culture may need to protect itself by burying it altogether. In such circumstances, the act of memorial- ization may substitute whole-cloth fiction for the recall of actual events. Often, some aspect of all three modes of representation exists in a memorial site. To explore these processes, two cases are presented here. The first embodies a classic case of fictional aggrandizement. In the second, the memory of significant events and suffering remains suppressed, and a new memory, aimed at future aspirations, has been installed in its place. In both cases, fiction has been used to reveal a greater truth, from which a lesson is forged for generations to come. Opposite: The Lincoln Memorial, designed by Henry Bacon, at the terminus of the Capitol mall, provides a touchstone for the nation’s conscience. It presents a much different view of Lincoln from that which prevailed at the time of his death. Photos by Carol M. Highsmith. The Creation of Place: The Lincoln Memorial According to the art historianAlois Riegl, “a monument in its oldest and most original sense is a human creation, erected for the specific purpose of keeping single human deeds or events (or a combination thereof) alive in the minds of future generations.” 1 To be forgotten, to leave no trace of our existence, is a difficult thought to bear. As time moves us inexorably to a kind of disappearance, we want to believe we mattered in more than our material presence. We build, we write, have children, and construct wills. We leave an inheritance, we give a portion of our wealth to have buildings named after us—all to be remem- bered, and so to keep our lives important even after our last breath has been drawn. The ancient Mediterranean world believed that without burial within native soil and without proper rites, the soul wandered eternally. Fustel de Coulanges wrote that in that world the very security of the community depended upon the correct observation of burial rites, upon which the welfare of the family of the departed depended. 2 As the family grew to a tribe and the tribe to a state, such concepts were extended. Creon’s failure to properly honor Polynieces, for example, brought disaster upon his house, and by extension to Thebes. 3 By extension, the contemporary monument asks that we remember something important to the well-being of the whole. But in collective remembrance we form a bond not only with the present community but also with com- munities. This projection of memory forces awareness not only of the presence of others and also the presence of time, locating an eternal present between the past and the future. Every community must contain an element of social order that reminds members of their obligations to others, both past and future. At its core, the monument is not intended to convey of pleasant memories, or even heroic deeds. Instead obligates future generations to hold to the lessons we leave for them. Remember this, we say. This is important. The transfer of collective memory from individual memory, from subjectively held experience to collective representation, is a complex task. But for a monument to perform it, its message must be as clear to those in the future as it is to us. Traditionally, the language of the classical monument spoke openly to this end. Commemorative sculpture in public space is at least five thousand years old, and for half that period its formal language, derived from the Mediterranean world, served as the basis for almost all monuments and memorials. Substitute anyone or anything for Abraham Lincoln in Allen / Memory and Place: Two Case Studies