Art and the Conservative

In my continual attempts to avoid homework, I came across this interesting article from The Witherspoon Forum’s excellent blog, Public Discourse. The author gives and assessment of modern art and the need for a conservative cultural response. Art has become an expression of the self and soul (often an ugly sight today), the conservative answer is to make it as an expression of the beauty—tragic included—inherent within the world.

A limited, but still profoundly significant understanding of the arts therefore lies buried beneath the rarified, religious, and radical distortions of fine art that conservatives rightfully criticize. This understanding sees fine art as a means of pursuing beauty—even the terrible or wounded kind—for its own sake, in a way that opens towards the transcendence best mediated by traditional faith. This is where the more conservative tradition of artistic patronage and reflection finds its home.

Post DC

Spending the summer in the nation’s capitol has reminded me of two very important thoughts. First, that the District of Columbia is one of the few places in the world where the people are singularly focused. Second, that despite good-intentions, true kindness, and best intentions; social changes are for the vast part limited to the individual and local level.

Washington revolves around the government. No less than 200,000 area residents are employed by the federal government at any time, and the number is probably much higher. Many of these are civic servants, running the Department of So-and-So or This-n-That. Fewer work on the Hill, in Senate and House office; far more work to influence the Congress, Courts, Departments and White House into favoring one policy over another, this bill over that, and so forth. The attention of the city is always focused on these attempts and the actions coming out of the government—how will this effect us? How will we benefit or lose? Is this law good for me? All attention is given to government actions, a focus rarely seen in any community.

It is a regrettable focus, of course. People pay attention because they are paid to, and they have skin in the game. It isn’t a community, it’s a populace driven by self-interest and need. Woe that so few places nowadays seem to suffer from a complete lack of community, or common interest, or even concern.

The second point is a child of the first. Much ink is spilled in attempts to improve communities, help children, give better educations and have better families. But government policy can only do so much—it can direct actions, but it cannot direct hearts. And in a society where men are still largely free to make their own life choices, their hearts matter more. Attempting to fix human behavior through legislation is fine if your population is made of robots; but all efforts will ultimately fail if they are human and corrupted. You can change the system, but you cannot change the actors within. You can direct them, but you only direct them fully if you have robbed them of their capacity as actors.

I don’t know how to conclude these slightly related musings. Suffice to say, do good, encourage good, be good; and know that change finally comes from those who act, not those who direct.

Michael Who?

The sudden death of Michael Jackson has taken many people and the media by storm. I was walking around D.C. when the news hit, and people were yelling it to each other as they got the word, through cell phones and Blackberries, or even police radios. Some where stunned, others tearful; many, like myself, merely shrugged.

The newscasts tell me Michael Jackson was a pop sensation and icon. I cannot deny it. Who can forget the cute little kid singing “Easy as A-B-C,, 1-2-3, Doe-Rae-Me, You-and-Me,”? or the crazy excitement of the Thriller album? And yet, the Michael Jackson that I tend to remember most is the incredibly disturbed and confused man that seemed unable to face reality or himself. The Michael Jackson of debt, of two long-drawn court trials, of dismal tabloid headlines that I remember most.

In part this has to do with my own age and generation. Michael Jackson is the same age as my mother, someone cool but not as contemporary as the Backstreet Boys or whatever other boybands we adored in the 90s. He was old news by then, a part of the so-called Generation X that we never really fit into. And when he made the headlines, we knew who he was but many of us, I suspect, did not care (I could be entirely wrong, of course). Thus his death brings to us no emotional power, except perhaps for a fond memory of the high-pitched kid of the Jackson5.

For Generation X, Blacks, and many others, Jackson was a star that transcended reality. He certainly did much to ease the post-60s racial tension, by appealing to both blacks and whites. His music was fun, his concerts alive with energy, and his appeal somehow charming. But it seems that for Jackson himself as much as any body, the dream he promised and the ideas he preached lead to a dead-end.

I’m not quite sure how to take the emotional reaction I’ve been seeing. He was in my eyes a talented figure gone horribly astray, someone who discovered that all the glitter and golds of fortune and stardom offered nothing, but couldn’t find any place else to hide. If I mourn for him it is for his sorrow in the last few years, not because we have lost a great leader or icon. He influneced many, but how many will take his life as a greater lesson than his words?

Reflections on Patriotism

This Memorial Day I was fortunate enough to witness the humbly titled “National Memorial Day Parade” down Constitution Avenue in Washington. Two hours of military men and women, veterans associations and high school marching bands from across the United States left my feet somewhat tired, but gave me ample opportunity to consider not only the meaning of Memorial Day—a civically sacred day we set aside to memorialize our war dead and their sacrifices. Such remembrances I fully support as a means of maintaining our national consciousness and identity, but that identity as it is so frequently portrayed in parades, by rally speakers and even in the responses of a crowd cause me some pause.

When we cheer for the wounded Vietnam solider or the last World War I veteran alive we show a genuine appreciation nd respect for sacrifice and service. But when we cheer for the “Rolling Thunder” bikers or Lee Eastwood’s horribly catchy “I’m Proud to be an American” song, what are we cheering for? In a very healthy sense we are cheering for the things we love, the particular habits and things that Americans do. C.S. Lewis notes in his classic The Four Loves that men feel a sort of fondness for their country, a patriotism that is not about being better, but the peculiar things that make a German a German or an Italian an Italian. The Frenchman is fond of his street cafes and baguette because they are French and part of his very Frenchness, he does not except his Spanish neighbor to share an equal appreciation. In the same way the Spaniard enjoys (or did, until recently) his siestas because he is a Spaniard, and that is what Spaniards do.

This affection is the natural outgrowth of a culture and identity; its corruption comes in the belief that it is superior to all other such loves that others may have for their own countries. To invoke the tired Third Reich analogy, when Hitler declared the Aryan culture and habits to the culture, he elevated something that cannot be elevated, for he could never make the Frenchman love sausage and beer in the same way as a German. Military patriotism is arrogance; affectionate patriotism is a love regardless of imperfection or practicality.

For the American, I fear pride too often misleads our patriotism. We may say we have the “best damned country in the world,” for we believe it to be true. But are we patriots because of what we as a nation have done and are capable of doing? because of what we stand for and where we came from? or because we truly do love mother’s apple pie and baseball? All three have their natural place at the alter of state; I would prefer the latter have preeminence. If Americans ride Harley-Davidsons and play cheesy country anthems, so be it; let us take care, however, when we attempt to associate principles with particularities. Too often it seems we take a broad principle and tie it directly to something that has no dependency on that principal what-so-ever. Apple pie will forever be apple pig, regardless of government. We send men to war because of deep underlying principles that our hearts do not understand, they yearn for home because they remember the fireworks and hotdogs on the grill. Perhaps my observation is not that we love our country, but that we easily confuse this love. Let us fight for what is right, let us love what we love as Americans.

Affirmative Sports

A brief observation with a humorous intent before the weekend, when I hope to actually finish a post about the “national energy crisis.” In the meantime however…

My brother (himself a basketball player) was watching the NBA finals this week, and I joined him briefly for part of the  second-to-last game. He made the observation that he had only seen “one white guy”  on the Boston Celtics team, “and he is Asian.” No, I don’t know if this is true or not, but I found it amusing that the Boston Celtics, named after the very white country of Ireland, have a team composed primarily of black players. In our modern higher education, this would be cause for affirmative action to even the playing field, to allow white students an opportunity to play. No such interest in feel-good lower doubler-standards exists in the sports world, where story after story will tell you that talent is the only currency required to succeed. If only we could be so consistent in all areas of our lives.