SERIES OVERVIEW
Civility is usually discussed as a set of rules, manners, or expectations imposed on behavior. But historically, civility emerged much earlier and much more naturally — through shared cultural practices that required cooperation, restraint, emotional awareness, and mutual respect.
This three-part series explores how music, the arts, and cooking and dining together have quietly shaped civil societies across cultures and generations. Each essay stands alone, yet together they reveal a simple truth: civility is learned through participation, not instruction.
The series avoids politics and ideology, focusing instead on universally recognized human activities that transcend differences and foster social stability.
PART III: The Table Is the First Classroom of Civility
In many communities today, eating has become something we do between obligations—hurried, solitary, or improvised. This shift has contributed to the erosion of civility: for most of human history, cooking and dining were central to learning cooperation, sharing responsibility, and passing down culture.
If we want to understand the erosion of civility in modern life, we should start with the table—and everything that leads to it.
Civility does not begin when the food is served. It starts in the unseen work that comes before the meal. Growing crops teaches patience and stewardship. Raising livestock teaches responsibility and consistency. Preparing food teaches planning, timing, and care for others. Storing food teaches thrift and respect for resources. These habits, developed long before anyone sits down to eat, form the backbone of community life.
A meal is the final expression of a long chain of cooperation.
The act of cooking—especially when done together—requires communication, delegation, timing, and trust. Someone chops while another stirs. Someone seasons while another sets the table. Mistakes are corrected, ideas negotiated, and preferences considered. These interactions are not trivial. They are practices for living alongside one another.
And then comes the dining itself: one of the simplest yet most powerful civilizing rituals we have.
At the table, people must wait their turn, listen, and speak respectfully. They share space with others—who may think, believe, or feel differently. The table is where children learn self-regulation and gratitude. It is where adults reconnect after days spent in fragmented environments. It is where disagreements can soften and where laughter can reorder a difficult day.
Meals slow us down just enough to see one another clearly.
In today’s chaotic society, these benefits are increasingly fragile. Many households eat on different schedules. Many children grow up without ever helping to prepare a meal. Fast food and on-the-go eating have replaced the slower rhythms that once anchored family and community life. In losing the table, we have lost not only a tradition but a training ground for civility.
We underestimate how deeply eating together shapes character.
Communal meals teach that everyone has a place and that nourishment is shared, not hoarded. They show us that comfort, conversation, and belonging cannot be rushed. These lessons linger long after the plates are cleared.
Cooking and dining together help counter social isolation, a growing problem. People can live under the same roof yet experience entirely separate lives. A shared meal re-establishes a sense of “we.” Often, this is exactly what many communities need.
When people gather at a table—whether in a home, a community center, a cultural festival, or a long-table event in the town square—they rediscover what civil society requires: presence, patience, curiosity, and connection.
In an age of distraction and division, the table remains one of the few places where all of these qualities come naturally.
Let us return to cooking and communal dining, not as optional niceties, but as everyday actions essential to our wellbeing. Commit to preparing food with others and sitting down regularly to share it. Make the table a deliberate practice—invite friends, family, or neighbors, and reclaim this space as the foundation for a calmer, more stable, and compassionate community.
Civility is fed long before it is spoken.
The table has always known this.
SHORT EDITOR’S NOTE
At a time when public discussion about civility often becomes political or moralistic, this series takes a different approach.
Rather than arguing about who is right or wrong, or proposing new rules for behavior, the essays that follow ask a quieter question: How did human beings originally learn to live together at all?
The author suggests that civility did not begin as an abstract idea or a formal code, but as a lived skill developed through shared cultural experiences — making music, creating art, and gathering around the table. These practices appear in every culture, across history, and require no agreement beyond participation.
Readers skeptical of “soft solutions” may be surprised to find that the essay series is not about nostalgia or sentimentality. It is about practical human behaviors that teach listening, emotional regulation, responsibility, and cooperation — the very capacities modern societies say they want, yet they struggle to cultivate.
Whether one agrees or not, the series invites reflection on something often overlooked: before we tried to manage civility, we practiced it — together.
Jay Remer was raised in the United States and emigrated to Canada roughly 30 years ago. Since then, I have been involved in the writers’ community and the hospitality industry. I live in Saint Andrews, NB, and look forward to the day when healthy, civil debates bear more compassionate outcomes. Please feel free to send your questions: jayremer@chco.tv
