Freedom and Civilization

A Speculative Essay

(Originally submitted to Mary Titus in an undergraduate American Studies class on 23 September, 2013.)

I envy the nomad. Stark naked and serene, he owns the wild woods. He lies down in green pastures beside waters that reflect the silence of his undisturbed mind. Like a Galapagos tortoise, his thoughts have grown vast from years of solitude. An ocean of wordless thought carries his soul — a consciousness completely free.

The freedom of the nomad is the freedom of a happy man who wants no more than covers his back, fills his belly, and warms his hands. His is the picturesque candor of the child, the un-carved block, whose behavior sparkles with naive calm. He lives outside the law, and answers to no one.

In perfect freedom, the nomad’s life is neither question nor answer, good nor evil, long nor short, meaningful nor meaningless. Solitude is freedom from judgment and union with God. It is purity and potential. Surely it is good for man to be alone.

From this paradise we fell into bondage. When the jeweled glance of gold captures the gaze of wandering stars, those celestial adventurers acquiesce, sink, and fall. Their matter dissolves in an epic descent, until they tap the uncaring ground as sizzling pebbles, or simply fizzle out. By accident or some purpose, we quit the solitary, peaceful life and bound ourselves to other people — people, I should say, who are other. The nomad became the father of many nations, and each day whittled his vision narrower until Expectation spoke to him in a thunderous voice from on high.

Thus saith Society: “Thou shalt love me and serve me forever.” And like sheep we cannot disobey. To rise up against the master Expectation is to invite the lash of the whip Disappointment. One false step in the eyes of the ever-watchful public, and the cowhide of Scorn rips and tears at the conscience. By the silent tongue a man enters into contracts; by the silent rod a man is broken by his obligations. In relationship to others, one’s freedom dies.

In our own society, freedom is a happy myth. Does a person choose to be an American citizen? Or is it compulsory, like the draft? An alien has some say, but as for the majority, they breathe their first as red-blooded Americans. The training begins when the cord is cut. The child learns to sit up straight in church; he learns to button his shirt and to wash his hands with antibacterial soap; he learns to shame the tender, wrinkled world between his legs, and whispers rumors in the dark about love and sex. Cross your legs; don’t hit your sister; play near the house; do your homework; be fair; don’t cuss; be nice; don’t touch yourself; Jesus is good; use your inside voice….

In every moment of our youth, our parents crystallize scaffolding for our minds. What mama wants, baby wants as well. What daddy says, naturally is right and just. Thus expectations and genetics both are replicated in the offspring. It is a silent bondage that seldom surfaces to anyone’s attention. Our culture and society, they are a subtle slavery — compulsory, lifelong, and all-encompassing.

Ah, the wanderer, the vagabond, how free his soul! Detached he lives, and detached he dies. At the vigorous end, the nomad’s cries mix with his hot blood. No one hears him. A clumsy step sends him falling headlong into a lonely field, where he dies, quickly and un-mourned. As the day becomes night, so death takes a man: without tears, without remorse, and without delay. If a free man dies in the forest and there is no one there to mourn him, is his death a tragedy? A triumph?

Is it anything?