Political Consciousness

What is it about the term “political consciousness” that I dislike so much? I think I first noticed that I hated the term when I realized that the people who asked the question, “When did you become politically conscious?” really meant: “When did you become liberal?” It’s the liberal equivalent of an evangelical asking: “When did you accept Jesus Christ as your personal savior?”

This has been my experience. I would be interested to know whether my experience matches others’ experience.

So, what specific reason do I have for disliking the term “political consciousness”? To begin with, the term seems to me to be intimately connected to the ideals of protest, revolt, and outrage. It’s taken to mean that rejection of authority is the sine qua non of growing up. I am not really human unless I am outraged about something. In other words, a good liberal needs to mount the barricades and support the revolution—at least in spirit.

This is an attitude I have to reject in principle. How can it be true that I am not happy unless I am outraged? The two ideas seem to exclude each other. Now, I do not deny the need, in some circumstances, for outrage. However, I cannot base my life on outrage; I will only be unhappy in the end.

My observations are, of course, not original. They first crystallized in my mind when I recently read some of Thomas Manns’ “Reflections of an Apolitical Man.” In one essay, Mann identifies “politicization” as “training for rebellion.” This also bears some relation to Alasdair MacIntyre’s remark in “After Virtue” that democratic discourse today is marred by our obsession with “unmasking” hypocrites, i.e. proving that all authorities are hypocrites. In other words, we only seem to be happy if we are outraged about an authority’s misfeasance.

I have a suspicion, though, that here in America much of this rejection of authority is mere posturing; just as the hypocrite plays a role (υποκριτης), so too does the unmasker. Why do I think this? Just look at all the idiots who wear Che Guevara T-shirts imagining that they’re antiauthoritarian. They revere Che for trying to spread the Communist revolution throughout the world, with absolutely no risk to themselves. They are protected by the most liberal free-speech laws in human history, yet they feel that spouting their support for a murderous thug transforms them into daring transgressors. Their outrage is nothing more than self-indulgence in their alleged moral superiority.

I also dislike the term because it reeks of democratic superciliousness. What do I mean by that? I mean the conceit that we must all be good liberal democrats in order to be good men. This can be traced back to Kant’s idea, found in “What Is Enlightenment?”, that enlightenment is the human race’s coming of age. Until the Age of Enlightenment, mankind had been suffering under the cruel yoke of benighted authority—ecclesial and political. One of the key aspects of our coming of age, therefore, was rejection of traditional authority, thinking for ourselves in matters of religion, and demanding democracy. Kant believed he was helping usher in a new golden age of humanity, when all men would be free and autonomous. In short, Kant maintained a rather questionable philosophy of history.

What can I propose in the stead of “political consciousness”? Do I reject the term outright? No, of course I don’t. There is a time in most people’s lives (including my own) when we start to care much more about politics than we did as children. Unfortunately, though, I only have time for a quick rejoinder, which might come across as a mere “I told you so” argument. Be that as it may…

Any adolescent has to face the question of authority. In that sense it is an essential part of growing up. I would suggest that what we need to do is “grapple” with authority, perhaps in the same way that Jacob “grappled” with the Lord (Gen. 32:23-33). Without confronting authority, we do not know our true place under it. After confronting authority, though, we should prove more humble. I see no reason why I should be forced abandon all authority as a matter of principle merely because of inevitable conflicts with authority.

Identity Issues

What shook me and put me to shame was the disparity between my personal rank and the resounding extravagance of world history marking the crisis of my fortieth year [the outbreak of World War I]. No doubt, it is fate to be so placed in time that the beginning of a new phase in one’s personal life coincides with a catastrophe of historic proportions. Happy—I often thought in those years—happy is he who for his entire life is allowed to feel the same cultural ground beneath him. Many an hour I spent with the writings, notes, and epigrams in which Goethe sought to deal with the French Revolution, and it was a comfort to me to see how this great man, who also imagined he would keep the same societal and intellectual ground under his feet, experienced such difficulty in coming to terms with the new, and to incorporate it into his world and his work.

--Thomas Mann, “Gegen Recht und Wahrheit,” in “Betrachtungen eines Unpolitischen”

Who am I, where do I come from, that I cannot make or wish myself to be different? That is the question to which one seeks an answer in times of spiritual anguish.

--Thomas Mann, “Die Bürgerlichkeit,” in “Betrachtungen eines Unpolitischen”

I just wanted to bring these two quotes to your attention. They strike me as unquestionably true, but I sometimes have a hard time saying why. The question of personal identity is of course deeply personal—but it can never be answered without relation to others around us.

When I learn to speak, I speak with “the other”; I address that other person (usually my father or mother) in the second person singular—thou. (This idea I owe to Martin Buber, of course.)

I think this observation can be extended a little further so that it sheds some more light on my question. Once I become aware of a “thou,” I also become aware of a “we.” I, even as a little baby, know that my mother and father are not completely separate from me, but are instead deeply attached to me. Just as I cannot define myself apart from a “thou,” I cannot identify who I am apart from a larger group, the “we.”

I hope you’ve stuck with me so far; I apologize for writing like a German philosopher. I guess the point I’m trying to make is this: A change in the “we” necessarily causes a change in the “I.” Being human means being exposed to these changes and being changed by others. And, what is the price of that change, at least for most people? Anguish.

Nevertheless, the individual’s task is to make sure that change is for the better, even if society changes for the worse. Or, to put it another way, the individual must react to changes (and thereby change himself), and even suffer anguish in the process, but the individual is still free to choose how to react (and thereby change himself). He can react for better or for worse; he can change for better or for worse. In the end, though, I suppose that happiness is not possible without anguish.