Would it be such a bad thing to lay aside the burden of indispensability and be ordinary again? I think it would be relief. A humbled America would allow us Americans to be ourselves without all the pretense that we are more than we are, that we are exceptional in some way. We're not, we never were. We made a contribution--lots of nations have. I'm sure we'll contribute more in the future, but the idea American Exceptionalism was always a combination of inflated jingoistic fantasy and good luck. But it looks like our luck is running out, and with it the fantasy is burst. But it's ok. It's ok to be human, to have a more down-to-earth, less fanciful idea about who we are and what we can do. And I think it will be easier then to live up to the ideal of our best American self. Excessive power and excessive wealth corrupt, and we have been deeply corrupted by both.
I am not worried that we will not recover from the madness of Iraq and the de-regulated financial markets; I am worried that we won't learn the right lessons and regain our sanity. After recovering from the initial horror after 9/11, I was moved by the sympathy that the world extended to us, and I thought then that this could perhaps be one of those shocks that knocks some sense into us. Maybe some good could come of it. Maybe this experience would help us to understand what other nations suffer because--since WWII at least--we never suffer the way other nations do. We're so insulated in this country and have only the most abstract understanding, if we have any at all, about the kind of suffering endured by so many people who are not us. Maybe this would enable us us to connect, that it would humanize us.
Fat chance. Instead because we had this ridiculously inflated sense of our importance in a so-called unipolar world, we flailed out like a wounded animal, we become the raging bull that stupidly rampaged through the Middle East, wreaking havoc, smashing everything in our path. Instead of learning from our suffering, we just went and created more. The stupidity of it, from top to bottom. And why? Why? And to what effect? On the one hand it has ruined us morally. And now add to the enormous financial cost of the war this economic collapse. The utter bankruptcy of the Reagan framework has been exposed. We're getting what we in our
self-indulgent grandiosity and greed deserve. A discipline we were unable to impose on ourselves reality is imposing on us instead. Reality has a way of deflating our pretensions, but it's still an open question whether we'll learn the right lesson this time around.
If we don't, I think what Patrick Deneen wrote last week points to a very real possiblility:
...perhaps the entirety of ancient and medieval political thought was correct, and democracy is actually an untenable regime. Before our age that regarded it to be apostasy to utter these words, the longstanding view among political philosophers was that democracy was a deficient regime subject to internal self-destruction due to the ultimate inability of a populace to govern itself. Democracy was, quite simply, the rule of the many over the few, and subject to the same sorts of temptations to tyranny as any regime. Because "the many" (hoi polloi) exhibited the tendency toward mob behavior that descended to the lowest common denominator, it was widely held in antiquity until very recent times - about 150 years ago - that democracy always and ultimately devolved into anarchic mob self-indulgence.
About 150 years ago, confidence in democracy grew, in part as a result of the 50-100 year evidence of the success that resulted from grafting democracy to liberalism. Liberalism provided protections to the few (wealthy) against the many (poor) by enshrining a set of rights - particularly rights of property - and arranging governments of divided powers and checks and balances. However, its true genius lay in draining the traditional curse of democracy - resentment of the many toward the (wealthy) few - by means of encouraging a dynamic growth economy. By dispelling the belief that every person was born and destined to remain in a certain fixed station, democracy became defined above all as a kind of mobility - upward, downward, onward and westward. This was the genius of Alexis de Tocqueville's analysis of democracy in Democracy in America, his awareness that modern democracy more than merely a form of government, but a set of mores that above all blasted apart the ancient arrangements of aristocracy.
So does the end of American Democracy coincide with the end of its open-ended, no limits mobile imagination of itself? For surely our becoming ordinary means that we can no longer see ourselves as unlimited. And so do we become now more like the social democracies Canada or France, or do we become more like the oligarchies typified by Brazil or Mexico?
After this orgy of inflated self-importance and self-indulgence, is it possible for Americans to relearn republican virtue? Or is there a fundamental lack of discipline in the American character that makes that impossible? We're at a crossroads here, and if we're not already, we need to wake up to what's at stake. I don't know if there is enough ballast in the American character to prevent our capsizing should the winds continue blow hard. Things could get very ugly here--a lot will depend on what kind of leadership Obama brings. I still have hopes that he will be the right man at the time we need him, but we should be prepared for what will happen if he isn't.