Proud to be an American?

In a recent ethics class one of the student presentations had been about Injustice and the State, and the discussion, naturally, slid over into torture and state-sponsored terrorism. As usual then, at least for those who know me even the slightest bit, at the end of the presentation Teacher held forth on the unacceptable-ness (an Aikenesque neologism) of State involvement in committing acts of injustice, and especially on the subject of America’s participation in such activities… complete with the usual, “We (i.e., Americans) should be better than that!,” and all—the whole enchilada. So it caught me a bit short when, on the way out at the end of class, a student asked me if I were still proud to be an American.

            I admit—the question took me by surprise. At first, looking at her a bit askance and askew as is my teacherly (another A-n) wont when unsure about whether I am being mocked, I could not decide whether or not she was being facetious with her question, as I had been cranking rather unambiguously on the U.S. critique-machine; so, frankly, irony could certainly have been in her mind. Even now I am undecided about whether the student intended to serve up a cold portion of irony with this question.

            At any rate, what she got from me in response was still my philosophical stock in trade answer – I am only proud of things when I actually have personal merit or involvement. As an erstwhile disciple of that old Stoic Slave-Master, Epictetus, there can be no other possible answer to such a question than his:

6. “Don't be prideful with any excellence that is not your own. […] What, then, is your own? Only your reaction to the appearances of things. Thus, when you behave conformably to nature in reaction to how things appear, you will be proud with reason; for you will take pride in some good of your own.”

Or again:

44. … These reasonings are connected: "I am richer than you, therefore my property is greater than yours;" "I am more eloquent than you, therefore my style is better than yours." But you, after all, are neither property nor style (as rendered by Ms. Carter on the MIT site).”

So the simple, and philosophically correct answer to my student’s question is that no, I am not in the least proud of some “condition” over which I had no control. My birthright is neither “mine” nor my “possession” in any normal or meaningful sense of that word, so it would be philosophically inappropriate for me to make it a subject of my pride. It is this same Stoic common-sensical (yet another A-n) critique that also makes social constructs such as {Patriotism + Pride=American value} so patently and philosophically meaningless.

            Being proud of where I am born is akin to being proud of having naturally curly hair or good skin… these are not personal “accomplishments” that demonstrate any particular character on my part. So one who is proud, or not proud, or who has any strong opinion whatsoever about where he is born, is exactly like the little mole who wanted to know who did a poo on his head, and who then proceeded to walk around beshat (beshatten? beshitten? beshyted?) for the entire duration of his investigation. What is frankly important here is not whose business it is, but what I personally do(o) about it now that I am besplattered. So let us choose to be different from our little molish friend, and, by asking the correct questions up front, try to draw out the best possible conclusions. Chances are much better that we will act well if we begin our quest by thinking well.

Answer by List. Perhaps there are other philosophical considerations relevant to my student’s question. How might it be meaningful to make the connection between personal and individual pride and the fact of being the fruit of American loins? This reflection then is an endorsement of no American party or of any candidate, but rather of a value – Justice.

·      In my generation it was trendy not to be proud of America’s involvement in Vietnam, for all the various and sundry reasons; it therefore stood to reason that I was not proud to be an American in that season, because it seemed to mean that I was implicated and therefore complicit in America’s Asian involvement.

            However, I was distinctly proud of the fact that individual Americans, including my younger self, would take to the streets to protest that war– I was proud to engage my thought, and my time, and my energy in the real-life working out of a people’s democracy.

·      I was not proud to be an American in the era of U.S. segregationist policies; but I was distinctly proud of the moment in America’s history when she was able to get beyond the issue of color in order to see the man—because I actively supported that transition into social justice in my political choices, and because, although racism is far from dead in America, I personally continue to refuse to allow racist opinions of all the ilks (gender, color, nationality, etc.,) to influence my thinking and my actions.

·      According to Human Rights Watch, America seems to have an active policy of putting its convicted youth in solitary confinement. So, while I have to admit that I have known some pretty rowdy and even out-of-control young people in my time, this particular American philosophe is not proud that he hales from a modern western 1^st world country that locks up its troubled young people in solitary confinement. If someone in prison needs medical or psychological attention, it would seem reasonable that we Americans could and should find a more appropriate manner that addresses these problems, which would include a whole range of professional approaches and solutions.

            This America does not make me proud; but the fact that I can actively and loudly join my critical voice to that of the people at Human Rights Watch makes me proud, because it gives me the opportunity to play a role, no matter how small, in creating an America that is good and just.

·      Also according to the HRW, America got away with torture during the Bush Administration (2001-2008). This was a violation of both US and international law, not to speak of the U.S. Army Field Manual (since 1956 until its revision in 2006 under the Bush Administration); but to address all the arguments relevant to torture and our need for intelligence in one fell swoop—at the end of the day it does not even matter whether or not torture “works” in getting that all-too-important intelligence we keep hearing about. It is ILLEGAL, a violation of American constitutional law, and therefore we Americans should not be practicing it. I am not proud of America’s renegade conduct in this matter.

            By the way, the science is in – torture should be out, unless we are just absolutely dead-set on creating the next generation of terrorists by means of our own state-sanctioned terrorist conduct. On the other hand, if America should wish to practice torture, then it should follow the legal and political channels of American democracy to have torture voted into law and ourselves voted to be taken out of the U.N. This is how the people work in a democracy.

            However, because this step toward the legalization of torture has not yet occurred in the U.S., I am therefore delighted that this current President decided that America and her president should act within the confines of the U.S. Constitution, as well as in agreement with the treaties the U.S. has signed with the United Nations; and I am proud that I cast my vote on the side of a man of this character that values Justice, who still has a vision of America that reflects the America I have known in my life. So nix to Gitmo and torture—almost…

·      There are approximately 196 countries in the world, and, in theory, we all, each and every one, individually as well as nationally, at least pay lip-service to the idea of Justice in the world. I am proud to be of this number. Also, I know of no one, personally, who has ever convincingly made the case that we humans should not strive for Justice.

            Of these 196 nations in our world, 193 are members of the United Nations. I am proud to say that America is of this (latter) number, and that I have also played my part by teaching students the importance of justice and civilized conduct in our relationships, both close to home and beyond our shores.

·      However, in publishing its 2012 Facts and Figures, Amnesty International supplies a corrective to my rose-colored understanding of America’s engagement for Justice in the international community, because the country of my birth is plainly playing a non-supportive role in the theater of global justice. I am not proud of this side of America. The International Criminal Court (ICC) was founded in 2002 with the following transnational statement of value: “The investigation and prosecution of international crimes—including genocide, crimes against humanity and war crimes—is a fundamental component of transitional justice.”

            To date, 121 nations of the world have signed up to the ICC; simple math tells me that 75 have not, which includes the United States. It would seem that on the question of International Justice the U.S. is playing keep-up-with-the-Joneses with North Korea and Somalia, two bad boys of the world’s most repressive societies. Sheesch… Even Uganda, of Idi Amin fame, and Nigeria, perhaps the most historically corrupt country on the planet, are signatories to the ICC. I am not proud of this American fact.

            According to the Internet-God on this question, the Clinton Administration signed the original Rome Statute in 2000, but failed to submit the treaty to the U.S. Senate for ratification; and the Bush Administration, again according to the above source, made quite clear that the U.S. would not join the ICC. For these two facts I am not proud, because this does not reflect the justice I value for America and for the world community of nations.

            However, I am proud that the current American Administration has reestablished a working relationship with the ICC. My pride about this comes from the fact that I have not only taught my students about Justice, but that I have also worked together with other people who value justice to choose this current President as the representative of an America of Justice.

            It is when we support just men and just women that we create Justice in our world.

While we all may hope that God might bless these United States of America, per the Greenwood song, you and I, My Fellow Americans, must still not fail in our day job—which is to create everyday in our own personal actions an America where, in Dr. King’s words, “justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

Dying Things Sing the Blues.

My wife was lying very quietly in bed the other morning waiting for me to wake up—her stare boring intently into my left ear. She had been staring silently and patiently at the side of my slumbering head for quite some time until I finally stirred. It was early. With not even a “good morning” or a “by your leave” to warm the cockles of her waking husband’s heart, her opening broadside salvo went something like this: “I know you don’t necessarily agree with my position, but I just wanted to make sure that you really understood my argument about Achilles’ wrath in Homer’s Iliad. The real reason for his anger was a deep-seated rage against his own mortality...”

            She was right, of course – I did not agree with her psychologizing interpretation of Achilles’ rage; but that is a subject perhaps for another blog. So began my morning, even before the coffee, which I had to get up and make myself.

Most of us have heard or at least heard of “the blues” as a musical expression (my cultural reference is Lady Sings the Blues, based on the life story of blues singer Billy Holliday); but have you ever wondered why the expression, “the blues”, came to be linked to music? Have you ever had a feeling of sadness after watching a great movie or finishing a good book? The Internet-God gave 28,800,000 results to that question after only 0.26 seconds. The English novelist, Charlotte Bronte, wrote: “In the midst of life we are in death”; but Gandhi also reminds us that Janus has another face, and that “In the midst of death life persists.”

            Then, of course, the medical corporation also adds their two-cents to the “blues” question by “problematizing” the phenomenon, and we learn that around 19 million American adults are majorly depressed, which does not even include all the other types of depressions (minorly and in-betweenly types) with which one could be diagnosed. This, in addition to all the other types of medically defined “blues” linked to depression, such as separation anxiety (an original form of existentialism) and the blueness event associated with the post-coital condition.

 There is, at the very least, one clear piece of information that we can salvage from this jungle of cultural expressions and medical definitions surrounding our emotional persona: that nostalgia, or the sadness of living, is on everyone’s mind. Our ambient cultural voices show us ways that we might meaningfully express our blues, while our various medical industries seek to cure us of the blues. Normal people generally seem inclined, culturally, to muddle along through their blue periods by giving voice to them, and our medical professionals see the blues as a health problem to be fixed through drugs and other types of therapy.

            However, as we look to the philosophers and poets for some kind of clarification on this question of the blues, it would seem that the wise of the world have not understood the blues as some kind of problem to be fixed; but rather, as a deep-seated reaction that gushes up and wells-out, in the face of a common experience of Living and Dying, from some hidden place in our body.

In a rather famous moment in poetic history, Homer renders a conversation that is taking place in the middle of a dangerous and bloody battlefield between two enemies who should have been friends because their fathers had been befriended. Glaukos, who is fighting on the Trojan side, and Diomedes, who is a great hero on the Greek side, meet on the battlefield, recognize each other, agree not to fight, and exchange the promise and gifts of friendship. And although Diomedes gets the better gifts from Glaukos, for which Homer ridicules this latter, Glaukos certainly gets the nobler lines in response to Diomedes’ question as to his father’s people: “…why ask of my generation? As is the generation of leaves, so is that of humanity. The wind scatters the leaves on the ground, but the live timber burgeons with leaves again in the season of spring returning. So one generation of men will grow while another dies.” (Iliad VI. 146-150).

            Where I have disagreement with my very-early-morning-lying-in-wait-to-ambush-me wife on the question of Achilles is that, like every Greek of antiquity, Achilles knew that we are dying things, that death attends us all sooner or later. What burdens Achilles, again like all Greeks, is not the fact of our day-to-day dying, but rather to determine what a thnetos, a dying one, an ephemeros, a creature that lives but for a day, can best accomplish between this moment right now and its last day in order to mark its passage in the world.

            For Achilles the warrior, the accomplishments were linked to the doing of great deeds of war that men would remember afterwards in poems and songs. For the religiously-minded Socrates, the accomplishment was to teach men philosophy—the life lived justly and honorably: “Men of Athens, I honor and love you; but I shall obey God rather than you, and while I have life and strength I shall never cease from the practice and teaching of philosophy, exhorting anyone whom I meet after my manner, and convincing him, saying: O my friend, why do you who are a citizen of the great and mighty and wise city of Athens, care so much about laying up the greatest amount of money and honor and reputation, and so little about wisdom and truth and the greatest improvement of the soul, which you never regard or heed at all?” (Plato’s Apology 29d).

            Another Greek who is interesting to interrogate on the question, “What is man?”, is Epictetus, a former slave. According to this freed slave turned philosopher, we Dying Things must never forget, especially when we get caught up in the routines of living out our days, that we are and remain things that are dying surrounded by other things that only live for a day. So in Enchiridion 3 it is recorded that he taught: “With regard to whatever objects give you delight, are useful, or are deeply loved, remember to tell yourself of what general nature they are, beginning from the most insignificant things. If, for example, you are fond of a specific ceramic cup, remind yourself that it is only ceramic cups in general of which you are fond. Then, if it breaks, you will not be disturbed. If you kiss your child, or your wife, say that you only kiss things which are human, and thus you will not be disturbed when either of them dies” (aÓpoqano/ntoß).

            Even the New Testament, which is in some very important ways a text of Greek antiquity, consistently refers to the human body as a mortal, which is to say dying, thing. It is equally true however, by way of caveat, that the NT never speaks about singing the blues.

Nietzsche was a philosopher of the modern world, dying at the dawn of the 20^th century, and lover of ancient languages who helped this ancient Greek world-view to find again its nostalgic, if not to say romantic voice in and for this contemporary world. In Birth of Tragedy §3, Nietzsche recounts an ancient legend of the Greeks that should serve to remind us that human existence was never meant to be more than a blues tune, sung by each one of us, that would linger in the air for just a little while:

“There is an old legend that king Midas for a long time hunted the wise Silenus, the companion of Dionysus, in the forests, without catching him. When Silenus finally fell into the king’s hands, the king asked what was the best thing of all for men, the very finest. The daemon remained silent, motionless and inflexible, until, compelled by the king, he finally broke out into shrill laughter and said these words, “Suffering creature, born for a day, child of accident and toil, why are you forcing me to say what would give you the greatest pleasure not to hear? The very best thing for you is totally unreachable: not to have been born, not to exist, to be nothing. The second best thing for you, however, is this—to die soon.”’

For those of you who rejoice in the exotic beauty of other languages, Nietzsche’s poetical outcry is this: »Elendes Eintagsgeschlecht, des Zufalls Kinder und der Mühsal, was zwingst du mich dir zu sagen, was nicht zu hören für dich das Ersprießlichste ist? Das Allerbeste ist für dich gänzlich unerreichbar: nicht geboren zu sein, nicht zu sein, nichts zu sein. Das Zweitbeste aber ist für dich – bald zu sterben.«

The people of culture are driven to express the blues; the people of medicine seek to heal this sickness unto death that will know no healing until we have run our course. On the other hand, our philosophers and poets, our wise ones, remind us that we are Dying Things and that, in order for contentment to attend us, we must make peace with our dying during the days of our living. Perhaps this is what Jesus meant when he spoke these words for the simple people: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.”

            So, we Dying Things are invited to be peacemakers, to reconcile ourselves philosophically to what it means to be man. Every day we are invited to contribute our own gentle variations to the Blues of Life; to make peace with ourselves. In a funny, sad sort of way, a piece of the puzzle of living is also grieving about the end of living; we are grieving, in a bluesy kind of way, because Loss is an integral part of who we are and of who we are destined to become. The blues, though, are not simply about the end of living; they are also the expression of our own personal lamentation for what we wish might have or could have been.

            As I write the lament of my life into the Blues Song of the World, there will be musical phrases woven around Ideas that I wish I could have believed, because so many around me believe them, but I simply do not find them credible. I would very much have liked in my life to be able to wrap myself in the comforting cultural cloak of Christian faith; but my philosophical mind does not acknowledge that irrational stories should be accepted as “mysteries of faith”. I find, for example, that I am simply unable to comprehend in what way it is possible to construe Jesus as a teacher of ethics, because I do not find either the Sermon on the Mount narrative realistic or the Jesus-ethic real-world functional. We should actively “turn the other cheek” with each one who offends us—so Jesus becomes the only known teacher of ethics in the entire world to do away with the fundamentally human notion of justice (i.e., accountability)?! Likewise, I could never quite extrapolate from the Christian narrative in precisely what way I am defective (i.e., a sinner) in my person, and therefore offensive to The Great One—I find no persuasive narrative, argument, or other evidence that my existence, as such, is an offense of any sort, let alone an offense against the Supreme One who is supposed to have breathed life into these nostrils. Nor do I accept as reasonable the notion that I carry some sort of Debt of being offensive to The Divine, or to the Universe at large, simply because one of my idiot ancestors stole a crummy apple from the wrong Guy’s garden.

            As I write the lament of my life into the Blues Song of the World, there are phrases that speak of what I am becoming, of what I have created during and with the days of my life. Because along with my own aging and experiences of loss (of parents, family, friends, innocence, and of flexibility in my joints), comes the wondering whether, and the deep personal conviction that, I have become the type of human that would have made my parents proud, that would have made my grandmother proud.

            As I write the lament of my life into the Blues Song of the World, you will hear in my life-tune a repetitive blues phrase crying out the Realization that there will not be enough days in my life to discover answers for all the Big Questions that I have been studying, relentlessly, for as long as I can recall. This phrase expresses my dismay that all my education has not informed me concerning what is true about the world, but rather concerning what I have learned about the world as I have grown up that is not true.

            The blues singer of Psalm 8 reminds us to keep in our minds a question, which is both rhetorical and yet profoundly reflective of the bluesy nature of the Human Condition: What is man that we should be mindful of him?