Dialogue: 3
Sunday, 04 December 2016
Dangers of political monotheism.
Intolerance of alternative viewpoints threatens democracy.
--
Just one point…
Political monotheism is dangerous.
We don’t have a two-party system. We have two one-party religions.
I observed a funny thing this election cycle: Americans are political monotheists. There is one god, one church, and one holy representative: The Party, The Platform, and The Candidate. It’s good vs. evil; us vs. them. Rather dogmatic about truth, indignant about heresy, and one-version-only about story. Hands-on-hips, pursed-lips, pointer-finger-ready: we are swift and righteous when it comes to judgement of those who disagree with us. Especially, friends.
Monotheism, as in the belief in one god, is not the problem. Monotheism, as in the belief in a single authority, prescribed for all, that is the problem. This isn’t a quibble. Historically, it was an all-important distinction: the colonists, and later, the revolutionaries, who settled then founded this nation, were mostly monotheists, but in the first sense only. They fled and opposed prescribed belief systems. They recognized neither Established Church nor Established King. America of the 18th century was monotheistic in the first sense, but polytheistic in the second.
So it is an ironic reversal that America in the early 21st century is now the opposite: polytheistic in the first sense, and monotheistic in the second. That is, we have embraced post-modern attitudes when it comes to religion itself: we welcome many truths, many narratives. But when it comes to politics, we are more censored and single-minded than ever. Indeed, the range of acceptable opinions is so suffocating, I wonder what time-traveling 18th century revolutionaries would say if they could see us today.
I suspect that this is not a coincidence. Our religious tolerance probably has less to do with enlightenment, than apathy. It is less of an embrace than a shrug; less of a listening than a benign neglect. We just don’t care anymore. We are living in what Joseph Campbell and T.S. Elliot called “The Waste Land”. Our religious, spiritual, and mythological belief systems seem badly out-of-sync with 21st century realities. But we are as in need of an object of belief as ever, so we hunt for alternatives…
Voltaire wrote: “If God did not exist, we would have to invent him.” And so we have. The State is our Religion. As far as most Americans are concerned, God does not exist. Except perhaps as a ceremonial trinket, a kind of Santa Claus. But The State? The State is very real. Hopes, fears, struggles, desires — we project all of it onto The State.
Although State-worship does have its origins in 20th century socialism, it is not exclusive to The Left. The Right and The Left both project the awe of deity onto The State. On The Left, there is this sense that the State is our great hope for utopia, for equality, salvation, deliverance from injustice. And on The Right, this sense that our problems have their origin, and thus their solution, in The State. But the union of the pair of opposites is in this silent agreement that The State is what truly matters.
So it is no wonder how we behave about politics. With all our hopes and fears pinned to The State, we act as if our identity, our worldview — our survival itself — is at stake in every election. If our party is voted out of office, it is as if God himself were dethroned from Heaven. You see, politics is a fragile religion.
Have you seen an animal backed into a corner? They get nasty. When flight is not an option, they get ready to fight. They snarl, bark, bristle, coil up, extend claws. That’s American politics today: a cat fight.
As the first recorded experiment in democracy, the practice of ostracism in ancient Athens should be for us an omen of warning. When a political monoculture takes over, there is no tolerance for alternative viewpoints. If you disagree with the party line, you are branded a traitor and kicked out. Over time, any intellectual diversity is either eliminated or forced to go underground.
Because most Americans have not embraced the reality that politics is reductionist, they deride, disdain and dehumanize members of the opposite political party. I know Republicans who cannot imagine why any smart, good person would vote Democrat; and Democrats who cannot fathom why any smart, good person would vote Republican.
So an informal, self-organized ostracism pervades our culture. Republicans hang out with Republicans. Democrats hang out with Democrats. Republicans boycott Democrats. Democrats boycott Republicans. Republicans speak to Republican audiences. Democrats speak to Democratic audiences. Red feed, blue feed.
This election was less about ideas than it was about identities. The candidates are partially to blame: there was very little emphasis placed on the grand narrative, but much emphasis placed on ad hominem attacks. Technology is partially to blame: it is easier to grandstand and lob insults on Facebook and Twitter than in real life. But politics is downstream from culture, so ultimately, the people — you and me — are to blame. Who among us has not indulged in political incest? Conformist thinking? Presumptive attacks?
We are “The Thought Police”, and we police each other. We monitor every opinion for political correctness, as defined by party. So much so that the “Overton Window”, singular, has become the Overton Windows, plural — one per party — and political correctness has become an intellectual straightjacket.
America has two political monocultures that express themselves through informal ostracism. It was not always like this. There was once a single political polyculture that expressed itself through vibrant, but respectful, debate.
Instead of taking our conclusions for granted, we would have the humility and circumspection to carefully consider our reasoning. And then, we would take the time to rigorously defend our point of view with dispassionate argument: and let logic guide rhetoric. Today, rhetoric drowns logic.
Instead of shock and dismay upon learning that our friends disagree with us, we would engage in friendly debate: listen, learn, maybe persuade, maybe be persuaded, but ultimately, embrace intellectual diversity.
Democracy is, at its best, an enlightened hedge on being wrong. The more I know the more I know I don’t know, so I establish a government whereby I may be overruled. Like a zen paradox, it is a rather bizarre form of wisdom. How many votes would the candidate receive who said: “I am the least qualified candidate who is most confused about what to do.” And yet that is what our system expresses, beyond party forms. I recognize that I may be saved by those I disagree with, because in the crucial moment: they may be right, and I may be wrong.
I love this quote from the character Trevize in science fiction writer Isaac Asimov’s Foundation Series. It captures the ethos of polyculture.
When you think of human history, you think of the occasional human being whose minority view may be condemned by society but who wins out in the end and changes the world.
Would we have ostracized that individual?
