Positive Liberty

A few days ago Mark Olson called my attention to a post entitled “Patriotism and the Christian.” I asked the Inner Ethical Council what they thought, and they graciously offered the following dialogue. Infer what you will regarding my own opinions.

The article began as follows…

The love of country is an excellent school for the soul.

“It certainly is,” said the Cynic. “But what exactly is the school of patriotism going to teach us? The lesson would seem to depend on the country we are asked to love. Whether it is Britain or North Korea might actually make a difference.”

“Only too true,” answered the Humanitarian. “It may be more precise to say that love of country is an effective school for the soul, but its excellence depends on the lessons taught. Which reminds me — what’s a Cynic like you doing giving lessons in love?”

“Leave him be,” said the Academic. “He’s got a very good point, I think, and maybe a larger one than either of you realize. Even one ‘country’ is still a very big and very fuzzy thing. It extends into the past and the future. It touches both the good and bad, and even our aspirations. A ‘country’ includes things that aren’t fully real or achievable in any case. So even loving what is supposedly the ’same’ country may lead in some very different directions. Few are so apt to wave the flag as Klansmen.”

“I think you hate America,” said the Moral Relativist.

“No,” said the Academic. “I love it. And the tricky part is: So do they.”

“So much depends on what we mean by ‘country,’” said the Stoic. “I love America for what it tries to be, for what it very often has been, and above all for what it could be in the future. But ‘country’ is so vague a word that, in a sense, it hurts our ability to be clear about what we mean. Which is why patriotism is so beloved of obscurantists. But let’s move on:”

Patriotism is a good measure of the maturity of a man. Young men of our era are often too self-centered to love country, old men too cynical, and all of us have been taught that self-interest and self-esteem trump the needs of the community. Find a true patriot and you will find a man with virtue.

“Truly, this man has never been to an American Legion meeting,” said the Epicurean. “Take how much they love their country, divide it by their ages, and they still love America more than most of us.”

“He doesn’t know much about the Boy Scouts, either,” said the Academic. “But what do you suppose he was really getting at here?”

“Only the middle-aged really love America? How old is he, just about forty-five?” asked the Cynic.

“All have sinned and fallen short,” said the Stoic. “That’s what he means, and maybe he’s right. Yet I wonder about equating love of country with virtue. I thought Christians equated love of God with virtue. Isn’t this… kinda… patriolatry?”

“I think you hate America,” said the Moral Relativist.

“Now wait a minute,” said the Epicurean. “What could it possibly mean to say that someone is too self-centered to love the United States? Here we have a country founded on enlightened self-interest, on the pursuit of happiness, even. Imagine — for once, a country not founded on collectivized delusions of grandeur. A country founded on something very nearly the opposite of nationalism.”

“I think you hate — ”

“Shut up,” said the Capitalist. “I’ve done some of my very best work in America, and the Epicurean has too.”

“Indeed. I love America,” said the Epicurean. “I love America because it’s the first country founded on an idea — and because that idea is, basically, ‘Leave me the hell alone.’ Best of all, you may be of any race, gender, religion, or skin color, and you may still believe in this one idea with equal sincerity. Holding that idea, and defending it to the death, makes you an American at heart, no matter where you were born, or to whom. But, I suppose we should continue — ”

We might think of patriotism then as a kindergarten of love. If we cannot love our nation, from which we have received so many tangible benefits, how will we love a God that we have not seen?

“We may think of patriotism as many things. ‘Kindergarten,’ I feel safe to say, is not one of them,” said the Malthusian. “Too often, ’slaughterhouse’ might be the better term.”

His mouth firmly secured with duct tape, the Moral Relativist emitted a muffled yelp.

The Cynic grinned. “I am beginning to think that the author of this piece desperately wanted to write it the other way around, and that what he really meant to say was as follows: ‘If we love a God whom we have not seen, but who allegedly has done many strange things, a few incomprehensible things, lots of wonderful things, and occasionally some vile things, then surely we can love a country which we have seen, albeit one which has done things strange, incomprehensible, wonderful, and vile in like proportion.’ And, with love of God and country both firmly secured, all that pesky cognitive dissonance just melts away.”

“Love means never having to say you’re sorry,” said the Humanitarian. “Just on a cosmic scale. But wait, there’s more — ”

But aren’t we called to be global Christians? What of the great missionary heroes who loved the world more than their own nation? What of them? I dare not claim to be so developed in my love of God. There is a great danger in the walk of faith in pretending to virtue we do not have.

For most of us, doing our duty to country is a first step in the harder obedience of the love of God. Those who have mastered the graduate levels of love are beyond our reckoning. They are the men who move beyond this little love of place and time, to embrace the world. Most of us pretend to this greatness so we can avoid the hard disciplines of the lesser love.

So, we must love the city to which we are called. Most men must love God and country. For most of us, this country is America. Never trust a man who is not saintly who cannot love his people.

“None but a saint may criticize his country, and saints do not exist: Criticism is its own refutation,” said the Academic. “You can’t criticize the country until you love it so much that you have… I dunno, moved on to loving other things, and can’t be bothered about love of country anymore. But it doesn’t really matter, because none of us have reached that state. Don’t like something about America? America is not to blame. Chalk it up instead to the ‘hard disciplines of love.’”

“Lady Liberty, dominatrix,” said the Epicurean. “Oh, hey, this bit is interesting — ”

Cynicism seems to work well in times of peace. It is cool . . . and our medium of choice, television, is a cool medium. The cynic risks nothing. The cynic never faces betrayal, for he has no cause. He never faces pain, because there is nothing he loves. Of course, the cynic is actually impotent. It is the believer that dares to dream and build. But in times of peace, the cynic can live like a parasite mocking the believers from a safe distance. Our bitter little hearts can mock with impunity; our humorless, selfish souls can find a bastard joy only in ridicule.

Not for us the true pain and true joy of the builder, the believer. We are “wiser” than that.

“Harsh medicine,” said the Stoic.

“It is no such thing,” replied the Cynic. “The author is right that cynicism works best in peacetime. Or rather, that it is easiest in peacetime. What he neglected to mention is that only the true master cynic may practice his art in war. And when he does, he will speak as follows: ‘Be humble and trust your leaders. They know better than you do.’ Verily I stand in awe, for we are in the presence of a master. ‘It is the believer that dares to dream and build!’ Let us build, then, and build whatever some other schmuck tells us to build! Ho! What glorious balderdash!”

“No, no, I think he may be sincere,” said the Humanitarian, “And that frightens me even more. This isn’t just glurge. It’s glurge with a cyanide chaser.”

“Exactly,” said the Cynic. “If he had spoken it plainly, and said, ‘My country, right or wrong,’ only a few would have listened. ‘Dulce et decorum est’ is, like, so nineteenth century. But our author was too clever — too cynical — for that. He’s learned my lessons well: The greatest cynicism — because the most unselfish — is the cynicism for which there is no earthly reward, but only the peace of mind that comes of thinking oneself superior.”

“Thinking oneself superior,” the Academic said, “and declaring that thought is inferior… to unthinking love.”

“Thinking oneself loving,” the Stoic said, “and declaring that real love is unattainable, so we should make do with the substitute of unthinking patriotism.”

“Thinking oneself a patriot,” the Capitalist said, “and declaring that our countrymen are infallible, but only when they are considered as a herd. No, neither humans — nor sheep — are infallible. I just never thought I’d have to point out the second one.”

Then he paused.

“I still love America,” he said.

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