Two Loves for a Mouse
Writing a daily (almost) blog gets easier as the blog becomes more popular and more and more people comment. My blog just before this one, for example, was inspired by an observation made by a commenter, and today’s blog is to be no different.
Last evening a young lady who calls herself “Robin” asked a telling question, “Do WE have integrity?” and added a punch line: “I'm talking about you and me.” The Mouse assumed – for comforts sake – that the “we” she had in mind were the people of the United States of America. If I read her intent correctly, she was putting the blame for the sins committed by our nation squarely on the shoulders of the American people themselves, those who in a republic are ultimately responsible for their own government.
As you might imagine, an indictment of that breadth has caused the Mouse a few sleepless hours. Nothing gets to him quite so effectively as the well-aimed thrust of a verbal spear. And nothing disturbs him quite so deeply as a sense of personal guilt. If I, as one of the people, am guilty of the atrocities that have been committed in my name, what exactly is the nature of my guilt? And what must I do about it?
Because I am more a man of words than of deeds I suspected that the first question would be the easy one, and perhaps it was. But the answer that came up for me to that question caught me completely off guard and elevated “what must I do” from a mere civil action – “get involved” – to something that more resembles a religious penance than a rational response.
I have been rereading Karl Jaspers’ commentary on Spinoza, keeping the thin little volume beside my keyboard here, to read whenever the harpies of hyperspace temporarily cease their torture. This morning the book fell open to what Jaspers referred to as the first question we must address when setting out to understand Spinoza. His question did not at first seem related to the one I had posed as my first, but after he answered, I saw that his question not only related but provided, in effect, an answer to both of mine. Jaspers asked: “On what do happiness and unhappiness depend?” And quickly answered: “On the nature of the objects that we love.”
If we as a people – and I as an individual – have permitted our nation to create conditions of unhappiness, it must be that we have fallen in love with the wrong objects.
In yesterdays’ closing paragraphs I referred to the idea that so long as the ideals of this nation remain alive hope endures. But maintaining a stock of ideals in the mind’s storehouse is not the same as loving them. While we may on occasion trot out references to “the Founding Fathers” and to “the American experiment” to add volume to empty phrases, if those ideals were in fact our “true loves,” I seriously doubt that we would have permitted the series of misadventures I summarized in yesterday’s blog. We would not have been mesmerized by “manifest destiny,” puffed up by dreams of empire, nor (finally) incapacitated by the pathological delusions of grandeur that naturally afflict those who imagine themselves “masters of the universe.” We would not murder innocents in the name of “freedom.”
If we are not in love with our ideals, then what do we love? What is the object that occupies the foremost place in our hearts? Perhaps it is, as many have suggested, simply the emotional comforts and stimulations provided by “things.” Perhaps we have become so distracted by the consumerist calling that we have lost sight of the ethical ideals embodied in The American Dream. It has been, after all, those ideals that have produced the wealth that makes consumerism possible.
I observed yesterday that, “This nation was not established to change men’s nature, but rather to establish a framework of order and justice within which men might seek their own sense of righteousness, and see to their own happiness.” It did not occur to me when I wrote those words that a strong possibility exists that when the nation succeeds in establishing “a framework of order” the people, in seeking their own happiness, might easily lose sight of the selfless ideals that undergird and actually create the nation’s strength. By focusing on themselves and on their immediate happiness, the people may have fallen in love with the wrong object.
But as I have implied, the escape from consumerism may more resemble a penance than a practical solution. If we were at this late date to follow Thoreau’s advice to “simplify, simplify, simplify,” odds are we would bankrupt the nation and send the world into an endless depression. But surely there must be a middleground. Surely we can stop consuming some of the objects we are consuming without creating economic panic. Surely our government can exercise restraint in some of its spending without endangering the wealth and health of the nation. How many billions are we spending each day for no reason other than to sustain our armies in foreign fields?
But the economic demands placed upon us by our love all go by the boards when we finally catch on to it that we can love the ideals of liberty and justice – love them and commit to them without reservation – while at the same time seeking and finding our individual happiness. We are, after all, not robots programmed to perform simple tasks. It is entirely possible, within the context of a nation built upon a love of liberty and justice, to seek and to find safety and stimulation for our individual selves. It is possible to love the abstract ideals of our dream and, at the same time, to desire and have the concrete objects the implentation of those ideals have made possible.
But it ain’t easy. To love what we have in our hands demands first that we love those things that exist – and can only exist – in our hearts, and it is painfully apparent that we are more prone to love what we can see and hold in our hands than those things that exist only as ideas. It takes an act of reason to grasp the connection between the perceptible and the unseen, an act of wakeful recognition to sense the intertwining and interdependence of our loves.
And yet, if we take the easy path, the one that permits us to have our “things” while remaining ignorant of their source in the ethical infrastructure of our ideals, we are bound to be forced to answer Robin’s question in the negative. “No, my dear, we are not ethical. We are in love with objects that have no soul."
Pray, dear child, take us by the shoulders and shake us into wakefulness, lest we die – as a nation and as a people – in possession only of things destined to end in dust and decay.
If the dream is to survive, it must be lived.
Last evening a young lady who calls herself “Robin” asked a telling question, “Do WE have integrity?” and added a punch line: “I'm talking about you and me.” The Mouse assumed – for comforts sake – that the “we” she had in mind were the people of the United States of America. If I read her intent correctly, she was putting the blame for the sins committed by our nation squarely on the shoulders of the American people themselves, those who in a republic are ultimately responsible for their own government.
As you might imagine, an indictment of that breadth has caused the Mouse a few sleepless hours. Nothing gets to him quite so effectively as the well-aimed thrust of a verbal spear. And nothing disturbs him quite so deeply as a sense of personal guilt. If I, as one of the people, am guilty of the atrocities that have been committed in my name, what exactly is the nature of my guilt? And what must I do about it?
Because I am more a man of words than of deeds I suspected that the first question would be the easy one, and perhaps it was. But the answer that came up for me to that question caught me completely off guard and elevated “what must I do” from a mere civil action – “get involved” – to something that more resembles a religious penance than a rational response.
I have been rereading Karl Jaspers’ commentary on Spinoza, keeping the thin little volume beside my keyboard here, to read whenever the harpies of hyperspace temporarily cease their torture. This morning the book fell open to what Jaspers referred to as the first question we must address when setting out to understand Spinoza. His question did not at first seem related to the one I had posed as my first, but after he answered, I saw that his question not only related but provided, in effect, an answer to both of mine. Jaspers asked: “On what do happiness and unhappiness depend?” And quickly answered: “On the nature of the objects that we love.”
If we as a people – and I as an individual – have permitted our nation to create conditions of unhappiness, it must be that we have fallen in love with the wrong objects.
In yesterdays’ closing paragraphs I referred to the idea that so long as the ideals of this nation remain alive hope endures. But maintaining a stock of ideals in the mind’s storehouse is not the same as loving them. While we may on occasion trot out references to “the Founding Fathers” and to “the American experiment” to add volume to empty phrases, if those ideals were in fact our “true loves,” I seriously doubt that we would have permitted the series of misadventures I summarized in yesterday’s blog. We would not have been mesmerized by “manifest destiny,” puffed up by dreams of empire, nor (finally) incapacitated by the pathological delusions of grandeur that naturally afflict those who imagine themselves “masters of the universe.” We would not murder innocents in the name of “freedom.”
If we are not in love with our ideals, then what do we love? What is the object that occupies the foremost place in our hearts? Perhaps it is, as many have suggested, simply the emotional comforts and stimulations provided by “things.” Perhaps we have become so distracted by the consumerist calling that we have lost sight of the ethical ideals embodied in The American Dream. It has been, after all, those ideals that have produced the wealth that makes consumerism possible.
I observed yesterday that, “This nation was not established to change men’s nature, but rather to establish a framework of order and justice within which men might seek their own sense of righteousness, and see to their own happiness.” It did not occur to me when I wrote those words that a strong possibility exists that when the nation succeeds in establishing “a framework of order” the people, in seeking their own happiness, might easily lose sight of the selfless ideals that undergird and actually create the nation’s strength. By focusing on themselves and on their immediate happiness, the people may have fallen in love with the wrong object.
But as I have implied, the escape from consumerism may more resemble a penance than a practical solution. If we were at this late date to follow Thoreau’s advice to “simplify, simplify, simplify,” odds are we would bankrupt the nation and send the world into an endless depression. But surely there must be a middleground. Surely we can stop consuming some of the objects we are consuming without creating economic panic. Surely our government can exercise restraint in some of its spending without endangering the wealth and health of the nation. How many billions are we spending each day for no reason other than to sustain our armies in foreign fields?
But the economic demands placed upon us by our love all go by the boards when we finally catch on to it that we can love the ideals of liberty and justice – love them and commit to them without reservation – while at the same time seeking and finding our individual happiness. We are, after all, not robots programmed to perform simple tasks. It is entirely possible, within the context of a nation built upon a love of liberty and justice, to seek and to find safety and stimulation for our individual selves. It is possible to love the abstract ideals of our dream and, at the same time, to desire and have the concrete objects the implentation of those ideals have made possible.
But it ain’t easy. To love what we have in our hands demands first that we love those things that exist – and can only exist – in our hearts, and it is painfully apparent that we are more prone to love what we can see and hold in our hands than those things that exist only as ideas. It takes an act of reason to grasp the connection between the perceptible and the unseen, an act of wakeful recognition to sense the intertwining and interdependence of our loves.
And yet, if we take the easy path, the one that permits us to have our “things” while remaining ignorant of their source in the ethical infrastructure of our ideals, we are bound to be forced to answer Robin’s question in the negative. “No, my dear, we are not ethical. We are in love with objects that have no soul."
Pray, dear child, take us by the shoulders and shake us into wakefulness, lest we die – as a nation and as a people – in possession only of things destined to end in dust and decay.
If the dream is to survive, it must be lived.
posted by Benedict S. at 10:10 AM
6 Comments:
Mouse, you have made a very good statement of the basic problem in the "American Dream." It is not the dream the founders had of liberty and justice for all, but a capitalist dream of materialism and wealth in the selfish sense for the select few who are inclined to take it from others for their own personal gain.
It cannot be a revelation to any of us that this has been the overriding lesson of the 20th Century, which began with an idealism, a fair hope for success for mankind, and ended with the decadent lies of the powerful to manipulate and ultimately to steal the very liberty and justice our nation once promised the powerless.
What to do about it is the real crisis we face. Do we move to Sweden? Do we try to work within the corrupt system without becoming corrupt? Do we move to Fairhope, where the nation's pervasive rot disguises itself with expensive houses and the pretense of commitment to a failed heritage of reform?
Do we expect to imbue young people like Robin with idealism that is not angry, with intelligence that informs action, with the last shred of hope for mankind in the very real ideals set down in the writings of the founders of the failing country we live in? It all requires a major sea change, an awareness of ideals beyond those of personal gain. In the 1960s we thought we might be onto it; it will take some real leadership in the 21st Century to shake the betrayal of that lost decade of upheaval and optimism.
God help us. (There's always that possibility.)
Gee thanks mouse, I am happy I made an impact on you, now you will never forget me.
I blame the baby boomers,sorry to all the folks that are but the truth cannot be denied.But maybe it would be more appropriate to think of the BB as the Faustian generation. They didn't exactly sell Their souls to the devil-not collectively, anyway-but as they jog toward senior status, it's hard to escape the sense that they were complicit in their own unique kind of unholy bargain.
Most of BB born in the early years after World War II grew up in a
world of stability and order: lasting marriages, moms at home, fathers with permanent employment, local merchants who knew them and watched them,
neighborhoods where the people next door were ever-present and
predictable. The three television networks ran essentially the same
programs; the bread and soup and cereal all tasted alike. It was snug;it was also, as we all know, widely perceived as monotonous and a
little claustrophobic, as well as unfair to many members of society.
"The dull ache will not depart," Faust says in the first part of
Goethe's epic, as he laments the cozy tedium of his cloistered life. "I crave excitement, agonizing bliss." That does pretty well as a mantra for the best and brightest of the early baby boomers as they reached mid-adolescence in the early 1960s.
Faust was offered a simple form of relief for his confinement: He
contracted with Mephistopheles for 24 years of unending novelty,
physical gratification and encyclopedic knowledge. The baby boomers didn't sign any such contract, but as they became adults the most fortunate soon found themselves tasting similar treats: the erosion of sexual restraint, the ability to travel virtually anywhere, magic
electronic devices that brought instant knowledge and entertainment
even Faust never imagined, and most of all, ever-expanding choice-the
freedom to make important life decisions and then unmake them at will:
new locations, new spouses, new careers, all subject to endless
re-evaluation out of a concern that something more exciting might lie
around the corner.
All the big promises and grand new ideas resulted in disaster. The
Great Society, the War on Poverty resulted in conditions worse than
during segregation, welfare dependency, urban flight and so forth.
Anyway,everyone should get the picture here..Your right again mouse, it's all about consumerism.
To your quote:“On what do happiness and unhappiness depend?” And quickly answered: “On the nature of the objects that we love.”- No, I disagree, objects can't love us back,only love for our fellow man can cure the ills of America and between each of us..We need to stop putting LABELS on people, like we are to old or not old enough is one example.
The last 4 paragraphs of your blog touched my heart Mr.Mouse,you do know what you say.
Miss Robin: Wow.
A minor correction, and I do mean minor. When Karl Jaspers spoke of "objects" he included human beings.
But that aside, I sure would love to hear what some of the others have to say about your comparison of the BB generation to the Faustian sell-out. For my part, it was too deep for this time of night. I'll read it again in the morning and see if I can find anything to say that is even remotely at your level of erudition.
{I bet you make good grades in school.]
No Mr.Mouse, my grades in school were barely sufficient to matter. I had a older, mature, wise man that taught me about how life works. His son was a baby boomer, my dad. My more mature, wise grandfather would take me fishing and tell me stories of the good old days, which by the way, I love hearing about the way things use to be. I also love old movies, they had more substance in them than the movies of today, well most of them anyway. Remember "From Here to Eternity"? Great substance in that movie.
I read Faust in my second year of college. I thought the similarities were appropriate for what I was trying to get across. Thanks for the compliment.
Miss Robin: I found a copy of Goethe's Faust on my bookshelf, actually two versions of the tale, in one volume. I see also that Miss Finding has, in her blog, more or less seconded your motion regarding the BB generation. I'll read your motion and her second carefully before trying to respond further. I may even read Faust! The damn thing doesn't have a book jacket and that's usually about as far as I get in reading deep stuff. But, with the good wishes of the Gods I may get around to writing a Faustian blog tonite. If you don't see one tomorrow, you can take your pick of Mousian laziness, Mousian density, or the baseball game on TV. (The Orioles are on a roll.)
mouse, I don't know about you or Miss FF, but I am glad I'm not of that generation Robin described. Honestly if my son was alive he would be right up there at the top of give me, give me, I want more.
Sadly, slowly but surely, the Great American Sell-Out began.
This is the process of selling off the family farm, of selling off the
factory, of cutting short public institutions such as schools in order to fatten the Baby Boomers' Bank accounts. What is more, through massive Baby Boomer immigration policy and land grabs, the Baby Boomers have left what they laughingly call "Generation-X" with
crowded, violent cities, over-priced housing, a continuous
debt-system, and in general a position in life that amounts to slave status. The "serve-us" industry (ever growing) is the Baby Boomer's code word for "they are our slaves", and the pay befits a slave.
Sad is what it is.
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