Red State, Blue State - 8 Years Later

Eight years ago at the Democratic National Convention, then-Illinois state senator Barack Obama gave the keynote address.  I recently returned to it and thought it worth sharing for two reasons: (1) The speech is a great example of political rhetoric.  Large passages sound like something Franklin Roosevelt or Ronald Reagan might have said.  Any politician who tells you he doesn't dream of giving speeches like this is lying to you.  So whether you support(ed) Mr. Obama or not, the speech is deserving of study.  (2) This was the speech that established Mr. Obama's national reputation (even as the country has moved on and largely forgotten the candidate he endorsed: John Kerry).  To what extent has the president met the expectations he established in Boston?



On behalf of the great state of Illinois, crossroads of a nation, Land of Lincoln, let me express my deepest gratitude for the privilege of addressing this convention.

Tonight is a particular honor for me because, let’s face it, my presence on this stage is pretty unlikely. My father was a foreign student, born and raised in a small village in Kenya. He grew up herding goats, went to school in a tin-roof shack. His father -- my grandfather -- was a cook, a domestic servant to the British.

But my grandfather had larger dreams for his son. Through hard work and perseverance my father got a scholarship to study in a magical place, America, that shone as a beacon of freedom and opportunity to so many who had come before.

While studying here, my father met my mother. She was born in a town on the other side of the world, in Kansas. Her father worked on oil rigs and farms through most of the Depression. The day after Pearl Harbor my grandfather signed up for duty; joined Patton’s army, marched across Europe. Back home, my grandmother raised a baby and went to work on a bomber assembly line. After the war, they studied on the G.I. Bill, bought a house through F.H.A., and later moved west all the way to Hawaii in search of opportunity.

And they, too, had big dreams for their daughter. A common dream, born of two continents. My parents shared not only an improbable love, they shared an abiding faith in the possibilities of this nation. They would give me an African name, Barack, or ”blessed,” believing that in a tolerant America your name is no barrier to success. They imagined -- They imagined me going to the best schools in the land, even though they weren’t rich, because in a generous America you don’t have to be rich to achieve your potential. They're both passed away now. And yet, I know that on this night they look down on me with great pride. They stand here -- And I stand here today, grateful for the diversity of my heritage, aware that my parents’ dreams live on in my two precious daughters. I stand here knowing that my story is part of the larger American story, that I owe a debt to all of those who came before me, and that, in no other country on earth, is my story even possible.

Tonight, we gather to affirm the greatness of our Nation -- not because of the height of our skyscrapers, or the power of our military, or the size of our economy. Our pride is based on a very simple premise, summed up in a declaration made over two hundred years ago:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

That is the true genius of America, a faith -- a faith in simple dreams, an insistence on small miracles; that we can tuck in our children at night and know that they are fed and clothed and safe from harm; that we can say what we think, write what we think, without hearing a sudden knock on the door; that we can have an idea and start our own business without paying a bribe; that we can participate in the political process without fear of retribution, and that our votes will be counted -- at least most of the time.

This year, in this election we are called to reaffirm our values and our commitments, to hold them against a hard reality and see how we're measuring up to the legacy of our forbearers and the promise of future generations. 

And fellow Americans, Democrats, Republicans, Independents, I say to you tonight: We have more work to do --  more work to do for the workers I met in Galesburg, Illinois, who are losing their union jobs at the Maytag plant that’s moving to Mexico, and now are having to compete with their own children for jobs that pay seven bucks an hour; more to do for the father that I met who was losing his job and choking back the tears, wondering how he would pay 4500 dollars a month for the drugs his son needs without the health benefits that he counted on; more to do for the young woman in East St. Louis, and thousands more like her, who has the grades, has the drive, has the will, but doesn’t have the money to go to college.

Now, don’t get me wrong. The people I meet -- in small towns and big cities, in diners and office parks -- they don’t expect government to solve all their problems. They know they have to work hard to get ahead,  and they want to. Go into the collar counties around Chicago, and people will tell you they don’t want their tax money wasted, by a welfare agency or by the Pentagon. Go into any inner city neighborhood, and folks will tell you that government alone can’t teach our kids to learn; they know that parents have to teach, that children can’t achieve unless we raise their expectations and turn off the television sets and eradicate the slander that says a black youth with a book is acting white. They know those things.

People don't expect government to solve all their problems. But they sense, deep in their bones, that with just a slight change in priorities, we can make sure that every child in America has a decent shot at life, and that the doors of opportunity remain open to all.

They know we can do better. And they want that choice.

In this election, we offer that choice. Our Party has chosen a man to lead us who embodies the best this country has to offer. And that man is John Kerry.

John Kerry understands the ideals of community, faith, and service because they’ve defined his life. From his heroic service to Vietnam, to his years as a prosecutor and lieutenant governor, through two decades in the United States Senate, he's devoted himself to this country. Again and again, we’ve seen him make tough choices when easier ones were available.

His values and his record affirm what is best in us. John Kerry believes in an America where hard work is rewarded; so instead of offering tax breaks to companies shipping jobs overseas, he offers them to companies creating jobs here at home.

John Kerry believes in an America where all Americans can afford the same health coverage our politicians in Washington have for themselves.

John Kerry believes in energy independence, so we aren’t held hostage to the profits of oil companies, or the sabotage of foreign oil fields.

John Kerry believes in the Constitutional freedoms that have made our country the envy of the world, and he will never sacrifice our basic liberties, nor use faith as a wedge to divide us.

And John Kerry believes that in a dangerous world war must be an option sometimes, but it should never be the first option.

You know, a while back I met a young man named Shamus in a V.F.W. Hall in East Moline, Illinois. He was a good-looking kid -- six two, six three, clear eyed, with an easy smile. He told me he’d joined the Marines and was heading to Iraq the following week. And as I listened to him explain why he’d enlisted, the absolute faith he had in our country and its leaders, his devotion to duty and service, I thought this young man was all that any of us might ever hope for in a child.

But then I asked myself, "Are we serving Shamus as well as he is serving us?"

I thought of the 900 men and women -- sons and daughters, husbands and wives, friends and neighbors, who won’t be returning to their own hometowns. I thought of the families I’ve met who were struggling to get by without a loved one’s full income, or whose loved ones had returned with a limb missing or nerves shattered, but still lacked long-term health benefits because they were Reservists.

When we send our young men and women into harm’s way, we have a solemn obligation not to fudge the numbers or shade the truth about why they’re going, to care for their families while they’re gone, to tend to the soldiers upon their return, and to never ever go to war without enough troops to win the war, secure the peace, and earn the respect of the world. Now let me be clear. We have real enemies in the world. These enemies must be found. They must be pursued. And they must be defeated. John Kerry knows this. And just as Lieutenant Kerry did not hesitate to risk his life to protect the men who served with him in Vietnam, President Kerry will not hesitate one moment to use our military might to keep America safe and secure. John Kerry believes in America. And he knows that it’s not enough for just some of us to prosper -- for alongside our famous individualism, there’s another ingredient in the American saga,  a belief that we’re all connected as one people. If there is a child on the south side of Chicago who can’t read, that matters to me, even if it’s not my child. If there is a senior citizen somewhere who can’t pay for their prescription drugs, and having to choose between medicine and the rent, that makes my life poorer, even if it’s not my grandparent. If there’s an Arab American family being rounded up without benefit of an attorney or due process, that threatens my civil liberties.

It is that fundamental belief -- I am my brother’s keeper, I am my sister’s keeper -- that makes this country work. It’s what allows us to pursue our individual dreams and yet still come together as one American family.

E pluribus unum: "Out of many, one."

Now even as we speak, there are those who are preparing to divide us -- the spin masters, the negative ad peddlers who embrace the politics of "anything goes." Well, I say to them tonight, there is not a liberal America and a conservative America -- there is the United States of America. There is not a Black America and a White America and Latino America and Asian America -- there’s the United States of America. The pundits like to slice-and-dice our country into Red States and Blue States; Red States for Republicans, Blue States for Democrats. But I’ve got news for them, too. We worship an "awesome God" in the Blue States, and we don’t like federal agents poking around in our libraries in the Red States. We coach Little League in the Blue States and yes, we’ve got some gay friends in the Red States. There are patriots who opposed the war in Iraq and there are patriots who supported the war in Iraq. We are one people, all of us pledging allegiance to the stars and stripes, all of us defending the United States of America.

In the end, that’s what this election is about. Do we participate in a politics of cynicism or do we participate in a politics of hope?

John Kerry calls on us to hope. John Edwards calls on us to hope.

I’m not talking about blind optimism here -- the almost willful ignorance that thinks unemployment will go away if we just don’t think about it, or the health care crisis will solve itself if we just ignore it. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about something more substantial. It’s the hope of slaves sitting around a fire singing freedom songs; the hope of immigrants setting out for distant shores; the hope of a young naval lieutenant bravely patrolling the Mekong Delta; the hope of a millworker’s son who dares to defy the odds; the hope of a skinny kid with a funny name who believes that America has a place for him, too.

Hope -- Hope in the face of difficulty. Hope in the face of uncertainty. The audacity of hope!

In the end, that is God’s greatest gift to us, the bedrock of this nation. A belief in things not seen. A belief that there are better days ahead.

I believe that we can give our middle class relief and provide working families with a road to opportunity. I believe we can provide jobs to the jobless, homes to the homeless, and reclaim young people in cities across America from violence and despair.

I believe that we have a righteous wind at our backs and that as we stand on the crossroads of history, we can make the right choices, and meet the challenges that face us.

America! Tonight, if you feel the same energy that I do, if you feel the same urgency that I do, if you feel the same passion that I do, if you feel the same hopefulness that I do -- if we do what we must do, then I have no doubt that all across the country, from Florida to Oregon, from Washington to Maine, the people will rise up in November, and John Kerry will be sworn in as President, and John Edwards will be sworn in as Vice President, and this country will reclaim its promise, and out of this long political darkness a brighter day will come.

Thank you very much everybody. God bless you. Thank you. 

Text via AmericanRhetoric.com.

The Rhetoric of Torture - Part II

Continued from Part I

Using Alan Dershowitz' concept of a torture warrant to overcome the "ticking time bomb" argument raises important ethical questions about how we seek to persuade others regarding torture. Is it permissible for one who is wholly opposed to torture to utilize Dershowitz’ warrant as a rhetorical tool against advocates of a wider policy of torture, even if it means implicitly accepting torture, at least for argument’s sake, in certain cases? Whether Dershowitz’ torture warrant is advocated as an actual policy or as a rhetorical device, “there is, of course, a downside: legitimating a horrible practice that we all want to see ended or minimized” (Dershowitz 267). Though this danger clearly exists if the policy is implemented, does it also exist even at the rhetorical level? Do we debase human dignity by suggesting, even if only for argument’s sake, that torture should be legal? Do we desensitize ourselves to its horrors by debating it like we might any other policy matter?

Social theorist Slavoj Zizek believes such debate is indeed dangerous, contending that “essays… which do not advocate torture outright, [but] simply introduce it as a legitimate topic of debate, are even more dangerous than an explicit endorsement of torture” (quoted in Levinson 30). Likewise, in his essay, “The Prohibition on Torture and the Limits of the Law,” Oren Gross argues that “even attempting to conduct a rational conversation about torture may be deemed wrong, as it can undermine the commitment to a general absolute prohibition” (230). However, both Dershowitz and Scarry appear to argue just the opposite, that “it is generally more possible to end a questionable practice when it is done openly rather than covertly,” and that we ought “relentlessly to document instances of torture that have taken place, to make a public record, and through that record, to bring public pressure to bear on stopping the acts of torture” (270, 288).

There is a further ethical question posed by Dershowitz’ warrant: is the nature of evil such that we can tacitly accept it, while we work to limit it? Or does supporting something like a torture warrant amount to assisting in that evil? Is Dershowitz’ distinction between the fact “that torture is being practiced” and his claim “that [torture’s] use should be reduced” a valid one (Dershowitz 274)? Or is the wrongdoing of others – the fact that torture will be done – simply a smokescreen legitimizing that for which few people would directly argue – the legalization of torture? Once again, the issue at stake is not Dershowitz’ intention, but the rhetorical possibilities of his argument. From here one might reasonably argue that we should also focus on learning to torture more efficiently, so we have to do less of it; but is torturing well (in a functional sense) the same as doing good (in the moral sense)? Do we want to walk down this Machiavellian road, potentially conflating these two?

To some, this concern with the mechanics and ethics of the rhetoric of torture may seem like intellectual gymnastics, a contorted and even impressive process, but of little practical concern. If, however, ideas have consequences, if people take seriously the things we say – and why are we saying them, if not on the assumption that someone is listening? – we must be willing to think of our arguments as more than parlor games.


Hat tip to James Burk, who made me write this essay for his War, Democracy & Society course.

The Rhetoric of Torture - Part I

Arguments may be considered in two ways: philosophically and rhetorically. That is to say, they may be analyzed either with regard to their pursuit of the truth of a given matter, or with regards to their persuasive qualities. While the problem of torture is usually considered philosophically, the essays of Torture: A Collection, edited by Sanford Levinson, can also be considered from the rhetorical perspective. How are arguments about torture made? Perhaps most notable in this regard is Alan Dershowitz’ suggestion in “Tortured Reasoning,” that warrants should be issues for the application of torture, a provocative and highly contentious argument which makes regular use of the ticking bomb scenario. Elaine Scarry, in her essay, “Five Errors in the Reason of Alan Dershowitz” seeks to refute Dershowitz’ argument in favor of such a warrant; in so doing, she too considers the ticking bomb scenario, even though she contends that “an accurate understanding of torture cannot… be arrived at through the ticking bomb argument” (281n). This essay seeks to understand some of the scenario’s uses as a rhetorical device, the ways in which it may be rhetorically undermined by Dershowitz’ torture warrant, and some of the ethical difficulties in arguing about torture.

Dershowitz, a self-described “civil libertarian” begins his proposal for a torture warrant with the ticking bomb scenario, “in which saving a city from a nuclear, chemical, or biological bomb might depend on torturing the terrorist who placed it there or knew where it was hidden” (Dershowitz 258, Scarry 281). He does not argue that torture ought to be used in this situation, but writes, “I… believe that it would certainly be employed if we ever experienced an imminent threat of mass casualty biological, chemical or nuclear terrorism” (257). His goal, then, is to provide some sort of limitation and transparency for an undesirable practice which will inevitably take place.

Though Dershowitz himself does not say it outright, his torture warrant proposal could be used to call the bluff of many torture advocates. The proponents of torture see in the ticking bomb scenario a powerful rhetorical tool: few people would be willing to trade the lives of thousands of innocents simply to uphold the human dignity of a single terrorist. Though torture advocates rarely state as much, the implied argument is that if torture is permissible in extremis, it should be accepted generally, even in less extreme cases. Stated so baldly, the argument’s poor reasoning is clear; however, when presented in a more subtle and emotive way, the ticking bomb scenario makes a powerful case, even for the broad use of torture. But Dershowitz’ warrant threatens this line of argumentation by conceding the permissibility of torture in extremis, while still insisting upon judicial review for all instances, great or small. Dershowitz’ sidesteps the torture advocates’ strongest case – the ticking bomb scenario – by granting it, allowing him to then confront far more dubious applications of torture, “the thousands of cases that actually occur,” unlike the once-in-a-lifetime ticking bomb scenario (Scarry 282). As the Supreme Court of Israel notes, “there are [those] who argue that even if it is perhaps acceptable to employ physical means in most exceptional ‘ticking time bomb’ circumstances, these methods are in practice used even in absence of the ‘ticking time bomb’ conditions” (169). Dershowitz’ warrant would force us to take closer note the distinction between such cases.

I must repeat: this rhetorical use of Dershowitz’ torture warrant to undermine the ticking bomb scenario is a potential interpretation, and not explicitly in his essay. However, as Aristotle points out, rhetoric is not so much about making persuasive arguments as it is about finding the persuasive qualities in a given situation. The makings of good rhetoric are here to be found. Moreover, Derschowitz’ freely claims that his goal is to “provoke debate,” so considering his suggested torture warrant as a rhetorical thought experiment rather than a literal policy proposal is not entirely out of character (267).

Continued tomorrow in Part II...

When Less is More

Last night a friend passed along a link to this blog. In spite of the wall-to-wall news coverage of the earthquake in Haiti and the subsequent relief effort, a brief blog post more pointedly described the human loss than any of the news I have seen. Take a look.

If you are interested in helping, here is one place to do so.

Conversation by Factoid

Much has been written about the way that reading is quickly changing in the internet age. Consider, for example, a fairly standard internet news story: it consists of a paragraph or two of information, with a large, glossy picture. There may be further text stashed away somewhere, but you have to click on a link to find it. Meanwhile, the key points have been summarized for you with bullets. Related stories are linked somewhere in the margin. At the bottom of the screen, perhaps, are unrelated but highly popular stories, usually involving celebrities, nakedness or both. And then there are the omnipresent advertisements. (I would have included a screen shot of such a thing, but you've all probably seen it before; and if you haven't, the Guild Review more or less reproduces the phenomenon, though without the ads or naked celebrities, and somewhat more text.)

Critics point out that this format is changing the way that we read, shortening our attention spans and making it harder for us to follow narratives, arguments or anything more than a paragraph in length. Moreover, it seems the phenomenon is spilling over into spoken conversation as well. Rather than telling stories or laying out a line of reasoning, conversations often consist of factoids, one-line arguments and the briefest of anecdotes. Frequently these come from television programs such as The Daily Show or Mythbusters. All things considered, both programs are fairly intelligent, but the snippets that get cited the following day are frequently the witty lines or the (literally) explosive conclusions, rather than the thoughtful discussions that went with them. Perhaps the most grating form of this phenomenon is conversation which consists wholly of movie quotations. While a certain amount of intellectual power is required to memorize and string together such quotes, the heights which can be reached by such discourse are fairly low and no given topic can hold the collective attention for terribly long. In all of these cases, the result is an intellectually choppy outcome, incapable of moving from A to B to C and on to D, either narratively or philosophically.

Short intellectual attention spans manifest themselves in other ways as well. Even the intelligent and well-educated can be woefully incapable of discussing such things as literature. Interesting comments may be given, but they focus on poignant moments or arresting characters, things which are often emotional and subjective and are usually perceived in a single instant. Much more rare are considerations of an author's world-view or his opinion of virtue. Such rational arguments require the review of multiple episodes within the work, the discovery of common elements between them, and the refutation of episodes which would seem to undermine the argument at hand. Such discussions are by no means impossible today, but much more difficult for those who cannot hold their nose to the grindstone of a single topic for more than a passing moment.

In addition to frustrating college professors, does this phenomenon really have significant consequences? Who cares if our conversations are becoming shorter and choppier? Does it really matter? In point of fact, it does. Financial investing, political decisions and life-long vocations all require more than a moment's consideration. But perhaps most importantly, our ability to consider the Highest Things, the First Principles of the cosmos, is seriously compromised if we cannot think outside a jumble of factoids. Christ' words to Martha seem particularly apt: "Martha, Martha, you are worried and bothered about so many things; but only one thing is necessary..."

The Enthymemic Nature of Discourse

There are many current events in the Church and State that merit our consideration and discussion: the Pope's meeting with the President, Caritas in Veritate, and the Palin resignation come immediately to mind. It seems to me that as important as considering and discussing these events are, some treatment of how we consider and discuss them is of fundamental importance. I think that a helpful way to consider our interpretation of and discussion about current events is found in the Aristotelian concept of the enthymeme and Richard Weaver's application of it to discourse.

Many readers of this blog may have run across Aristotle's enthymeme in courses on logic or rhetoric; the enthymeme is usually described as a syllogism that lacks a middle term; compare:

Syllogism:

All men are mortal;
Socrates is a man;
Therefore Socrates is mortal.

Enthymeme:

All men are mortal;
Therefore Socrates is mortal.
(The middle term is left unstated; presumably understood by the audience.)

This description does not do great justice to the enthymeme, though Aristotle himself is not terribly helpful ("kalo d' enthymema men rhetorikon sylloyismon"--"Accordingly I call an enthymeme a rhetorical syllogism"; Rhetoric, 1.2.8; 1356 b). What is important to note about the enthymeme in discourse is that it relies on the audience to make the connection between statements; the audience cooperates in the creation of meaning. As such, in the hands of a skillful rhetor, the enthymeme can be more persuasive than the syllogism, insofar as the minds of the audience are engaged in a cooperative process of reasoning.

How does the enthymeme apply to discourse? Though he doesn't use the term, Richard Weaver recognizes it as the underlying mode of discourse within a given culture, explained through the problems of academic speech:

"In the speech of a culture maintained by a traditional society, there will occur many elisions and ellipses of meaning. It is not necessary to state them, because anyone can supply the omissions; it is rather the awkwardness of pedantry to put them into words. But the man who is outside the tradition, or who is self-consciously halfway between the tradition and something else, goes about it in a different way: its beliefs, values, and institutions are 'objects' to him, and he refers to them with something of the objective completeness of the technical description. This is why professors 'sound so funny' when they talk of something that is an everyday subject to the ordinary man. This ordinary man wonders why the professor, instead of using lumbering phrases to designate the obvious, cannot assume more. It may also explain why professors as a class are suspected of dissidence. Their speech does not sound like the speech of a person who is perfectly solid with his tradition, which is oftentimes the case." (Richard Weaver. Visions of Order. Wilmington, DE: ISI Press, 1995 [1962]. Page 8, footnote 2)

In other words, the average person's language is enthymemic; the interlocutor's agreement regarding key omissions is taken for granted. Most significantly, we tend to assume and demand this kind of enthymemic agreement when making statements.

Recognizing this fact, we see why political and religions discussions in our culture (particularly in the online culture, as I've come to discover) are often doomed to discord: we do not, as 21st-century Americans, have a robust set of traditional cultural assumptions, and thus our enthymemes often assume agreement on premises that does not exist. Consider the following two (actual) examples:

Person on observing the American flag at half-staff earlier this year: "I guess it's mourning the death of American democracy."

Person commenting on the 2004 election in 2004: "This is the end of democracy in America."

If one were to fill in the elisions of these two statements, one would get something like this:

"President Obama won the election; liberal policies are not democratic; these policies are contrary to real democracy; American democracy is dead."

"President Bush won the election; conservative policies are not democratic; Bush will continue conservative policies; America is no longer a democracy."

Notice how in each case, the person speaking to me expected assent, expected that I shared their assumptions that need not be stated. The flaw in both statements, of course, is that policies that one dislikes are, de facto, policies contrary to democracy. In fact, in the previous two examples, both candidates won solid victories in democratically conducted electoral processes, making their victories examples of democracy in action.

An oddly heartening aspect of this example, however, is that the unstated premise common to both is that democracy is an unquestionably good thing, and that its end is somehow tragic. The two contradictory edifices of assumptions share the common foundation of faith in democracy. Thus we get something like a common cultural assumption shared by both people.

Thus there are two points I wish to make here, displayed in this example:

1. Recognizing that it is natural for us to talk this way, and that without a unified cultural tradition enthymemic discourse may be problematic, let's consider our audience in discussions of current events, and how they might fill in our elisions. Such a consideration may save much wasted time and energy, and get to more productive dialogue.

2. Even in a culture as fragmented as our own, there may be shared assumptions that can provide a foundation on which to build; getting down to these common foundational principles of our worldview may be the best way to begin learning from one another (and learn much about ourselves).

On the Subversive Use of Language - Part II

Continued from Part I

Machiavelli’s ability to take “control of the language of the discussion” and change “the terms in which people think,” was viewed as highly subversive and dangerous in a civilization where Christianity was the established intellectual and cultural framework.1 But Christianity did not always enjoy such a position and was itself once viewed as subversive.2 Indeed, many Christian thinkers took up the language and symbols of their pagan counterparts, but substantially changed their meaning in the process.3 In this regard, these thinkers’ work could be characterized as Machiavellian, not because they advocated amoral power politics (which they did not), but because they won their intellectual battles by subverting pagan terminology and concepts. They anticipated Machiavelli’s means, but applied them to other ends.

Today, in a world where Christians and others who believe in a transcendent cosmic order find themselves on the intellectual outside, Machiavelli’s lessons regarding the use of language as a weapon can be very instructive. Linguistic battles need not be fought in costly set piece engagements, but can instead be waged deep in enemy territory, if the practitioner is attentive to context, connotations and the subtle forces of language. Those using Machiavelli’s own tools against him, reestablishing a harmony between human actions and the transcendent order by altering the very terms of the debate, can take courage knowing that if their cause is true, they are not doing violence to language by ripping it from its moorings, but instead returning it to them.


1. Codevilla, “Words and Power,” xxxi, xxii.
2. Idem, introduction, xiii-xiv.
3. See, for example, Thomas Aquinas’ appropriation of Aristotle’s Prime Mover, Boniface’ reinvention of the Germanic sacred tree as a Christmas tree, the appropriation of the Roman holiday of Sol Invictus for the date of Christmas, or the very use of the cross – a Roman symbol of terror – as the symbol of Christ.

On the Subversive Use of Language - Part I

Machiavelli has given his name to a certain style of cut-throat politics characterized by intrigue, backstabbing and the unbridled pursuit of power, though he was neither its first advocate nor its most adept practitioner.1 More unique to Machiavelli’s thought is the use of language as a weapon: instead of employing language in the head-to-head combat of traditional arguments, he deploys his words on deep flanking strikes that take his opponents in the rear. “He gradually alters [words’] meaning by changing their context,” playing with double meanings or creating new meanings altogether.2 The Prince “presents evil as if it were neither evil nor good but merely useful or counterproductive. By the end unwary readers find themselves agreeing that both good and evil have their worthy places in a new ethical framework structured by the concepts of necessity and usefulness.”3 It is a linguistic coup d’etat accomplished not by force of argument but by slight of hand.

Machiavelli’s Christian contemporaries were appalled by his work, “not as virgins shocked by political horrors they did not know existed” – for medieval Christendom had its share of assassinations, intrigues and the like – but because his work is at odds with the Christian world-view. Whereas Machiavelli contended that this present world alone matters, and framed political actions accordingly, Christian political philosophy acknowledges that there are norms which transcend this world and ought to order it. Thus, Augustine and others articulated the concept that the City of God, though present in this world, will only be fully realized in the life to come. The greatest political actions undertaken by medieval Christendom, the crusades, amply illustrate this Christian world-view in action. Jonathan Riley-Smith points out that “the most characteristic feature of crusading was that it was penitential. Crusaders had engaged themselves to fight as an act of penance in which they repaid God what was due to him on account of their sins.”4 The crusaders were not any more or less calculating than Machiavelli; the difference is that their calculations included a final judgment before the Almighty and the possibility of eternal life at His side. “The last thing most sensible crusaders would have expected was material gain,” but they had much bigger matters in mind.5

For the Christian, this desire to make life conform to the highest truths extends to the use of language.

For Dante [an exemplar of the Christian position], the function of language is to describe the nature of things. To the extent that men understand the place of everything in a divinely ordered natural hierarchy, they may attune themselves to reality. Words express men’s best understanding of how every piece of reality fits with every other. Therefore, although words are not quite the means of grace, they have much to do with steering men toward saving truth or damning error…. [Machiavelli’s] thesis is that languages are essentially particular articulations of the universal struggle for primacy.6

Machiavelli’s Christian critics see that he undermines the connection between human behavior and transcendent truth and they fear for the salvation of souls. While their concern may be well-founded, these concerns need not result in a rejection of his methods out of hand.

Part II coming soon...


1. See Angelo M. Codevilla, introduction, The Prince, by Niccolo Machiavelli (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1997), x.
2. Codevilla, “Words and Power,” The Prince, xx.
3. Ibid, xxv.
4. Jonathan Riley-Smith, What Were the Crusades?, 3rd ed (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2002) 3.
5. Ibid, 72.
6. Codevilla, “Words and Power,” xxiii.

Learning to Play a “Dangerous Game”

This just in from guest contributor Zach Czaia:

Aaron offered me the opportunity to post months ago. I’ve been enjoying the fruits of others’ wonderings and so figured I’d offer a wondering of my own (a wandering wondering at that) in the hopes that some of you all might offer your own insights on the subject.

In preparation for a graduate class at CUA called the “Eloquence of Lincoln,” I have been reading a good deal of Lincoln’s writings--consisting of letters and speeches mostly. I’ve been especially impressed and intrigued by his part in the debates with Stephen Douglas, when he ran for (and lost) the Illinois senate seat in 1858.

A cliff’s notes of the debaters’ key positions: Lincoln holds that slavery is a moral wrong, and that its being allowed to flourish in the new territories (Kansas and Nebraska) goes against the Founders’ initial vision of the institution as an inherited evil. (This position naturally puts him at odds with the Dred Scott decision equating slaves with “property.”) Douglas, meanwhile, refusing to ever publicly state whether or not slavery is “right” or “wrong,” campaigns on “the great principle of popular sovereignty”: what is important in this debate is that the people of a given state or a territory must have the right to decide for themselves whether slavery (or other institutions and laws) have binding power.

The introduction to my copy of the debates (ed. Robert Johannsen) warns that “it is a dangerous game to search for present day problems in past history; those who seek will generally find, regardless of the record.” This may be so. It may also be an interesting gloss on Lincoln and Douglas. (Lincoln’s assertion that the equality of all men--including slaves--is held by the “Founders”; and Douglas’ that the Founders’ always understood that declaration to exclude blacks, both seem to me to be an interpretations. In the case of Lincoln, the interpretation is revolutionary; in the case of Douglas, deeply conservative. The seeds for both positions, though, do seem to be present in the writings and actions of the “Founders.” Although I’d be happy to hear other arguments on this point.)

In any event the results of Lincoln’s presidency, which got its start in “searching for present day problems in past history” could certainly be described as “dangerous,” as well as salutary for the country. So, perhaps, might a thorough comparison between the case of slavery and the case of abortion.

My brother recently pointed me to the 2004 Illinois debates between now President-elect Obama and often-presidential nominee Alan Keyes. (I’m guessing you, Steve, have already had a pretty good taste of them.) The debates are spirited, certainly fascinating to consider in light of the historical moment we’re in now. Neither Keyes nor Obama (in my opinion) rises to anything close to what Lincoln and Douglas gave us in 1858. Keyes did, though, in his typically controversial manner, introduce the parallel I’m interested in, beginning his campaign in Illinois by dropping this bomb:

"I would still be picking cotton if the country's moral principles had not been shaped by the Declaration of Independence," Keyes said. He said Obama "has broken and rejected those principles — he has taken the slaveholder's position."

In the (many) YouTube clips I watched on the ‘04 debates, I didn’t hear this statement greatly fleshed out, which to me, is a shame. A “fleshing out” of this and other possible parallels is my goal here. Which comparisons are helpful to make from this moment, which ones are not? Why or why not?

(For example, I do not find Keyes’ comment about the “slaveholder’s position” helpful. Obama’s question about this view seems valid to me: if O. is supporting the slaveholder’s position by supporting the “woman’s right to choose,” wouldn’t that then make the woman the “slaveholder” and the unborn child the “slave”? If this is the case, it is difficult to see how the powerless position of many women who choose to abort their children is comparable to the powerful position of the slaveholders.)

In order that I don’t go on overlong, I end with an example of a distinction and reflection of the kind that (may) be fruitful in “fleshing out” this parallel:

For instance: The institution of slavery, as Lincoln points out, was a colonial inheritance of Britain and not something that was made or enacted by the new nation. (An evil that was tolerated.) This is different from abortion, a procedure that, while it may not be ‘new,’ is new insofar as it is legally protected. This difference suggests that a (not unprecedented) moral resurgence in its citizenry would be necessary for the institution of abortion to be abolished.

Any thoughts on this? Very rambling, I know. My first-ever blog post.

Steve, I was curious to know if you knew much about the legal history of Roe v. Wade and could comment on its relationship to the key legal cases on slavery.

One final thought: has anyone here seen Tony Kaye’s Lake of Fire? Best (and only) documentary I’ve seen on the issue of abortion.

An Ancient Approach to Political Warfare - Part II

Continued from Part I.

Aristotle, in his Rhetoric, contends that “since the objective of rhetoric is judgment… we must have regard not only to the speech’s being demonstrative and persuasive, but also to… bringing the giver of judgment [i.e. the audience] into a certain condition” (2.1). This requires an understanding of the audience and the sorts of things to which they are attentive; thus, Aristotle spends all of Section 7 discussing the possible characters of men who may hear a speech. The rhetors of the Old Testament understood that their audience valued history and historical continuity; thus, they made a point of framing their message in these terms, often invoking the prophecies of old.

This approach to appropriating tradition for propagandistic purposes was not unique to the Greeks or Hebrews, but can be found all over the ancient world. Philip M. Taylor contends that “Rome lacked the rich mythological sources available to Greek propagandists, so it created a mythology of its own” (35) This is, in fact, a sloppy simplification of a far more interesting process: Virgil’s Aeneid did not so much create a mythology as weave together several pre-existing stories of Rome’s founding – one by Aeneas and the Trojan survivors, another by the twins Romulus and Remus – in a way that supported the imperial government. Put another way, he appropriated a tradition, drawing upon its elements and then going beyond it to cover new ground.

Kautilya, an ancient Indian thinker, was a contemporary of Aristotle’s, though 3,000 miles away. He too understood the importance of appropriating tradition and discussed it in his Arthashastra, a handbook of statecraft. He explains that a king who has recently conquered new territory should “adopt the way of life, dress, language and customs of the people, show the same devotion to the gods of the territory [as to his own gods] and participate in the people’s festivals” (13.5.8; Rangarajan’s 741). Note that Kautilya is not interested in any particular quality of local customs, except that they are local and most likely beloved by the people. Though it is highly unlikely that Kautilya ever heard of Aristotle or his work, both demonstrated the same finesse for understanding an audience and the things that will favorably dispose it.

Modern-day practitioners of propaganda and political warfare would do well to learn from the ancients this lesson of appropriation. Americans, in particular, living in a relatively young nation that is more oriented toward the future than the past, tend to undertake their efforts without first asking themselves if there is already a pre-existing tradition whose terms and concepts they might adopt in order to lend their arguments new credibility. This, of course, requires the effort of first learning about foreign traditions and schools of thought, but the price is well worth it.

One of the uncomfortable qualities of Mason’s work is that it raises a difficult problem: what are we to make of an Old Testament that often bears a striking resemblance to propaganda, but which is claimed to in fact be the Word of God? An understanding of the appropriation of tradition helps us resolve some of this dilemma. A God Who acts in human history, Who stoops to make Himself known to mankind, can be expected to reveal Himself in a way that is conducive to the human mind. This is not so much God acting like a man, as it is God speaking to men; the Divine Rhetor understands His audience quite well and tailors His message accordingly. The point may be illustrated in regards to the earlier example of the lands promised to Abraham. God, in drawing a spiritual parallel between Abraham and Solomon, also draws a geographic one, not because the geography is or is not historically correct, but because the human mind appreciates and naturally grasps this sort of physical parallelism. Aristotle and Kautilya would understand the technique; there is no reason we should not.