Wednesday, November 7, 2018

A Lament on Politics

Awhile back I wrote an article on a controversial topic and linked it to my Facebook page. I've done this from time to time, and often the dialogue produced by it is enriching. Of late, I've noticed that it has devolved. It is at a point that I think I'll follow the pattern of some of my favorite blog writers and not comment on comments.

A few years ago, I wrote an article detailing a Christian position on the question of gay marriage. I was told I'm xenophobic, homophobic, unchristian, etc. I wrote an article on feminism a few years back and was told that I should be shipped off to a gulag. Once I was lectured smugly that what I had written was "below me." My most recent article was on the issue of "white privilege," and I was told I wasn't compassionate, again, and that I only wrote it because of my white privilege. It went something like this:

Me: "I don't think the concept of white privilege is meaningful."

Commenter: "Well, you only think that way because of your privilege."

Me: "Oh, thank you."

One comment suggested that it was a waste of time trying to argue with a middle aged white man like me, because I could never understand. All entirely helpful and bridge building kinds of comments.

In fairness, there are those who thoughtfully interact, which is interesting and fun, and part of the reason I even write a blog.

Dealing with this is easy enough. I can just refrain from responding to those who are leveling personal attacks. But the deeper concern for me is that thoughtful dialogue has become impossible with certain types of people. It is all emotional eruptions and virtue signaling and zero engagement with the argument.

The problem here, especially as I have studied history of late, is a deep lack of moral unity. Our culture is infatuated with diversity, and the pendulum swing in that direction is destroying any meaningful dialogue over issues of an ethical nature.

Recently I read the fascinating biography of John Adams by David McCullough, in which he details the correspondence between Thomas Jefferson and John Adams towards the end of their lives. The two men were great friends, even though there were significant disagreements, and even animosity in prior days, between the two men. What will become readily apparent is that what united the two men was far more substantial than what divided them. At the heart of this unity was a deep appreciation for truth and lives shaped by classical and Christian literature, which also meant lives shaped by classical virtues. In short, these men were bound by a similar worldview, even though Jefferson did much to tinker with the Christian worldview. But I think much of the revisionism that seeks to put Jefferson in the camp of deism is perhaps overblown. Towards the end of his life, Jefferson, in writing on the problem of slavery, made one of his most remarkable claims. He said, "I tremble for my nation when I think that God is just, and His justice cannot sleep forever." That is not the sentiment of a deist.

The deeper point here is that Jefferson and Adams operated in their linguistic brilliance with a whole substructure of language and references and truths that were grounded in the same worldview. It seems to me obvious that this is the reason the two men could put aside their differences in the end and be truly unified. In fact, it is this unifying worldview that made it possible for them to put into perspective the relative position of their differences.

What is it that unifies political adversaries today? The only thing that seems to unify them is disunity itself, and demand to be heard. We live in an ever developing postmodern hell where intensity and passion are the only tools in winning political debates. What we lack is any unifying substructure of value, grounded in deep philosophical truths, that both sides share. If you doubt this, simply ask each side what they mean by a definition of human life, or gender, or freedom, or authority, or rights. You will be dazzled by how nothing in the conversation will stand still.

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