Few institutions in American life carry the symbolic weight of Morehouse College. It is the alma mater of Martin Luther King Jr., Maynard Jackson, Spike Lee, Raphael Warnock, and thousands of men whose lives have shaped communities across the country. In The Cross, the Candle, and the Crown: A Narrative History of Morehouse College, 1867–2021, Marcellus Chandler Barksdale delivers a sweeping, carefully told account of how this small school in Georgia became one of the most important incubators of Black leadership in the United States.
The title itself signals Barksdale’s approach. The cross represents the school’s roots in faith and theological training; the candle speaks to illumination and education as acts of liberation; the crown symbolizes the responsibility of leadership that Morehouse men have carried into the wider world. Rather than treating these as abstract metaphors, Barksdale grounds them in story after story of people who embodied these ideals in times of both crushing difficulty and profound change.
A Narrative History Rooted in People
Spanning from the founding of the Augusta Theological Institute in 1867 through the present, the book covers more than 150 years of history. But what makes this volume stand apart from other institutional histories is its devotion to narrative. Barksdale does not merely track presidents, buildings, or enrollment figures. Instead, he situates Morehouse in its social and political contexts, showing how the school’s trajectory was intertwined with Reconstruction, Jim Crow, the Civil Rights Movement, and the ongoing struggles of the twenty-first century.
Consider the book’s opening chapters, which describe the post–Civil War moment when freedmen in Augusta gathered in a church sanctuary to imagine the unthinkable: a theological school to educate Black ministers and teachers. With careful attention, Barksdale recounts the difficulties of organizing such an institution under the watchful eyes of white authorities and amid the violence of the Ku Klux Klan. Yet he treats his subjects with dignity, showing not only their hardships but their determination. His prose makes clear that education, in those years, was not just schooling but survival and self-assertion.
Again and again, the narrative turns to individuals who gave flesh and voice to the institution’s mission. Early teachers and preachers, students scraping by with little but determination, presidents who steered the school through segregation and beyond — these stories animate the text. Readers come away with the sense that Morehouse was never simply a campus; it was, and remains, a community forged in struggle and sustained by faith in the possibilities of education.
The Strength of Barksdale’s Storytelling
Barksdale is a scholar, but he writes as a storyteller. The research is deep — archival documents, denominational reports, personal recollections — yet the tone is never dry. He moves confidently between eras, connecting the postwar founding to the mid-century civil rights era, and ultimately to the debates of the present. His voice carries a reverence that is both scholarly and personal.
At times, the density of detail may feel heavy for a casual reader, but the care with which Barksdale tells the story outweighs the occasional thicket of names and dates. Importantly, he avoids treating Morehouse as a myth. The book does not shy away from acknowledging challenges — financial difficulties, leadership disputes, and social pressures. Yet the overarching spirit is one of resilience.
One of the book’s great strengths is its ability to remind readers of the broader stakes. Morehouse was never an island. It was shaped by — and helped to shape — the African American struggle for citizenship and dignity. To read Barksdale’s history is to see Morehouse not only as an educational institution but as a beacon for a people and, in many ways, for the nation.
A Personal Reflection
I should pause here to acknowledge my own perspective. As a White woman writing about a historically Black college, I do so with respect and humility. My brief time as a student at Fort Valley State University in the 1980s opened my eyes to the vital role HBCUs play not only for African American students but also for young people who travel from abroad to study within their walls. These institutions have always been more than schools — they are communities of resilience and vision, and often a refuge, determined to carve out dignity and opportunity in places where both were too often denied.
That understanding feels especially urgent today. At a moment when political forces seek to erase African American history from classrooms, libraries, and the public square, Barksdale’s work stands as both record and resistance. His history of Morehouse insists on remembering — not in abstract, but through the lived stories of men and women who persevered, contributed, and elevated society despite every attempt to hold them back.
Conclusion
The Cross, the Candle, and the Crown is more than a chronicle of one college. It is a testament to the power of education as liberation, to the resilience of African American communities in the Deep South, and to the enduring significance of HBCUs. The symbols of the title — cross, candle, crown — are not relics of the past but living emblems of Morehouse’s continuing influence.
For readers who care about history, education, and the ongoing struggle for dignity in America, this book offers both knowledge and inspiration. In an era when erasure threatens to silence too many voices, Barksdale has given us a work that insists on memory, insists on truth, and insists on hope.
Marcellus Chandler Barksdale
Marcellus Chandler Barksdale is the right person to tell this story. A Morehouse graduate who returned to teach at his alma mater for four decades, he has spent his career as both scholar and steward. His earlier work, Black Georgians in the Twentieth Century, demonstrated his commitment to documenting lives overlooked in traditional histories. In The Cross, the Candle, and the Crown, he extends that same care, weaving together institutional history with the personal stories that make it come alive. Barksdale writes with the authority of a historian and the devotion of someone who knows Morehouse not only as a subject but as a living tradition.
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