I’m one of the last liberal believers in American Exceptionalism, and as I look around the political and media landscapes around me, I’m damn lonely. Not just liberals, but conservatives – like Andrew Bacevitch – seem to be shedding any idea that America is more than just another country with bigger shopping malls than most.
I don’t agree, and I think it matters that I be right and they be wrong.
It matters because in a world where the power of images and ideas is becoming stronger every day – where people defend themselves against men with guns by using cellphone cameras – we seem to be fresh out of ideas.
There’s a physical war going on out in the world with us on one side – and on the other a group allied in large part by their rejection of our beliefs as much as their rejection of our power. They are fighting us with bullets and bombs – and with YouTube videos, discussion forums, and impassioned manifestos. They believe, alright. If you ask them, they will clearly tell you that they do and tell you in what.
So as a counterbalance, what do we believe in? On this 4th of July, it’s worth asking – is it just baseball, hot dogs, and light beer?
It’s not, you say – it’s much more than our prosperity – it’s…our freedom. It’s…and then the words run out. Why can’t we say it? Why is it that the people who shape our culture can’t talk about whatever it is that culture is defined by, and instead talk endlessly and with pleasure about those whose only joy is transgressing the culture they can’t express?
Expressing our culture matters. Look, at the end of the day, this war won’t just be won killing those who would kill us. It will be won by converting those who would join them to join us instead. But what do we offer to make it worth joining us, exactly? What makes our side worth joining? Who are we, and what are we trying to do in the world? Why can’t we talk about that?
That’s not a new question. I read a lot – my wife would roll her eyes and say “only a lot?” – and in the course of reading, I tripped over an interesting and little-known book…a political think piece commissioned by Time Magazine founder Henry Luce in 1959 called Beyond Survival. In the first chapter, author Max Ways (a Time political correspondent) talks about the inability of the United States to formulate policies that were not responses to crises from the outside, and what that would mean as the Cold War drifted to deadlock. What would happen to America as its foreign policy drifted into a dead end?
That, precisely, is the question. For if the fault in our national policy-making process is not to be found in the government itself nor in the public itself, it must be in the way these two are connected. Are the people being asked the right questions by their leaders? Is it possible under present circumstances for leaders to ask the right questions or for the people to answer? Can the great public issues that affect our destiny be framed in a way that allows helpful public participation?
Every citizen feels free and easy in expressing his opinion about specifics of what the government does or proposes to do; but we have become timid about discussing the ends and the fundamental beliefs that condition political action. This reticence shuts off the public from that part of political life with which it is most capable of dealing, the moral part. What can the citizen be expected to contribute to a discussion of how many aircraft carriers we should build or how we should handle the technical diplomatic problems of the Berlin crisis? Topics such as these are unprofitably kicked around in public argument while a near silence prevails upon the larger questions of what we are trying to do and the moral relations between our goals and the means we choose.
The only people breaking that near silence today are those on the left who seem to believe that our national goal should be to provide redress to the masses of the world who have been wronged by the power relationships in the past century, and those on the right who simply seem to believe that national power – in and of itself – ought to be our goal. And that, having kicked down opposing powers and established our primacy, that the people of the world would simply stand with us.
Both of these dangerous delusions seem to be based on the postmodern interpretation that power relationships are all, and that highlighting them, and where possible inverting them, is man’s noblest goal (note that I think there’s more to postmodernism than this – but not a lot more to postmodern politics).
The people who matter in this are, more than anything, the mythmakers – the Hollywood folks who this site is supposedly about. Because what we have misplaced somehow are the American myths that matter. I can’t lay them out here – I can’t even find my car keys, much less missing myths. But I think I know just a bit what they look like and can set out a post office sketch in case you happen to trip over them and care to bring them back to our attention.
But if instinctive patriotism and the patriotism of the city cannot be ours, what can be? Is there a type of patriotism peculiarly American: if so, is it anything more than patriotism’s violent relative nationalism? Abraham Lincoln, the supreme authority on this subject, thought there was a patriotism unique to America. Americans, a motley gathering of various races and cultures, were bonded together not by blood or religion, not by tradition or territory, not by the calls and traditions of a city, but by a political idea. We are a nation formed by a covenant, by dedication to a set of principles, and by an exchange of promises to uphold and advance certain commitments among ourselves and throughout the world. Those principles and commitments are the core of American identity, the soul of the body politic. They make the American nation unique, and uniquely valuable among and to the other nations. But the other side of this conception contains a warning very like the warnings spoken by the prophets to Israel: if we fail in our promises to each other, and lose the principles of the covenant, then we lose everything, for they are we.”[emphasis added]
That’s leftist professor John Schaar, from his essay on patriotism – ‘The Case For Patriotism.’ Schaar was one of my professors in college – sadly, on that I didn’t pay enough attention to back then – and one thing about his teaching was that it was largely based not only in texts – the Federalist Papers and Mill and Locke – but in novels that he felt encapsulated a greater truth about America and American politics – novels like Moby Dick and The Great Gatsby.
Because he understood that what it takes to understand America is to understand myths.
And I’ve got to tell you that everywhere I look in popular culture – movies, television, books, music – the only myths I see are ones that define themselves in opposition to this unstated myth, and leave it to be defined as a negative – defined by where it isn’t.
Where are our American myths today? How can we prevail in this conflict, except by brute power, without them? How can we refashion them, with proper reverence to the myths that brought us to this place and with relevance to a wider world that suddenly connects us to cultures far outside our own? What American myth can a young Palestinian child find to compete with the hateful death-embracing myths that he is being force-fed today?
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