Author: p_c_neary@hotmail.com

Those who suffered through my last commentary (Everything you know is wrong III) learned about the US Republic,  but you probably left the blog wondering “what was that all about? Did Pat drink some bad tequila?”

The answer to the second question is “no” (because there is no bad tequila), but here’s the answer to the first question.

The fact that the US is a Republic based on a Constitution has two important implications: one about the document itself, the other about the people it serves.

Americans hold their Constitution in high regard. We are right to do so, as intelligent observers around the world have commented on its simplicity, its insight, and its longevity. But the document is not magical. It works not just because it was brilliantly designed, but because it was ideally matched to the culture and characteristics of the American people (circa 1791).

Freed America slaves who returned to Africa to establish the nation of Liberia borrowed large parts of the US Constitution to little success. The US Constitution begat similar efforts in 19th century Latin America, post-Great War Europe, and post-colonial Africa, again with mixed success. The US Constitution was a unique match of brilliant political theory and informed citizenship.

What was the indispensable characteristic of that citizenry? Here the founders were unanimous: virtue, or as we call it today, morality. Franklin, Jefferson, Madison, Patrick Henry, and George Washington wrote about it.  Samuel Adams said “Neither the wisest constitution nor the wisest laws will secure the liberty and happiness of a people whose manners are universally corrupt.” John Adams said, “Public virtue cannot exist in a nation without private virtue, and public virtue is the only foundation of republics.”  and added “Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other.”

And these are just the pull quotes. All the Founding Fathers wrote and spoke about how important the virtue and morality of the American people were. This is not to say the Founders or the citizens were saints. Those same Founders tolerated America’s original sin–slavery. The candidates and their supporters in the Presidential election of 1800 engaged in far more slander than anything any candidate said in 2016!

Rather, the comments about the virtue or morality of the American citizenry described their common understanding of right and wrong. While the United States had no established religion, its people broadly accepted a code of conduct based on Judeo-Christian values. Even the Founders, many of whom were Deists, held the same beliefs, as Deism was a Christian off-shoot (heresy is the technical term). This morality, these virtues, matched uniquely with the Republican government developed under the Constitution.

Back at the beginning of the Republic, the American people had a common conception of right and wrong, even if those same citizens were individually more or less virtuous. Today, our citizens are just as likely to have different levels of virtue, but there is no common understanding of how to measure right and wrong. Religious participation continues to dwindle, and many organized religions follow, rather than lead, public mores. Some argue religion has no right to a voice in American government: a point historically inaccurate and (frankly) bigoted. Nevertheless, I would concede that religion has mainly lost its voice, while no alternative voice has succeeded it.

Instead, we have replaced a shared public morality with an individualistic one. As Justice Anthony Kennedy put it in Planned Parenthood vs. Casey, “At the heart of liberty is the right to define one’s own concept of existence, of meaning, of the universe, and of the mystery of human life.” There is little room for me to compromise with you when you have the right to define the meaning of the universe.

All of which leads to my final point: many of the problems we as Americans identify today are actually only symptoms of the real problem: the lack of a common morality. Our Republic requires it. Arguments about policy are just about politics (the art of compromise), while arguments about morality are good versus evil, and compromise is immoral. You can see this play out in issue after issue today: gun control, abortion, free speech, police violence, marriage, welfare, etc.

This is not a call to return to the days of that  good, old-fashioned religion; a culture can never return to its past. This is more a caution. America has only once experienced a similar moral debate: slavery. The issue was fundamental to concepts ranging from individual freedom and human rights to property, states’ rights, and habeus corpus. It took a bloody civil war to address that issue, and another one-hundred years to finish the argument.

I trust I have made a case for why our Republic needs a shared morality. I wish I had an easy answer for how we regain one. I have not heard anything beyond some platitudes thus far. I am open to good ideas: I know I am praying on this already.

As Paul Harvey used to say, my friends, “and now you know the rest of the story.”

The topic today is government, specifically, the type of government in the United States. If I asked you what form of government the United States has, what would you say?  A democracy? A constitutional democracy? A representative democracy? An oligarchy, run by big government elites? Anarchy (especially under the current administration)?

This is not an academic question: if you don’t know what type of government you have, you may be surprised when things happen that you thought could not–or should not–happen. I noticed this after the last Presidential election, when the popular vote did not track with the electoral outcome, and many commented that this should not be. I saw it again recently when the very vocal students marching for gun control were talking about making democracy work. You will often hear politicians and thought leaders referring to “our democracy.” I trust they are using a shorthand reference, but are they correct? What is our form of government?  As Warner Wolf used to say, “Let’s go to the videotape.”

Okay, there is no videotape, but there is a historical record. But when asked what form of government the new Constitution established for these United States, Benjamin Franklin responded, “A Republic…if you can keep it.” The Founding Fathers had many negative things to say about democracy as a form of government: they saw it as majority rule, or the rule by factions, as they called it.  The Federalist Papers (especially Federalist #10) detail their concerns: They wanted a government “of the people,” but they distrusted the average “person.” So they built in several safeguards, limiting the franchise (i.e., the right to vote) creating the electoral college, bifurcating the legislature. While we can all agree some of their methods were morally suspect (e.g., denying women the right to vote), their intent was sound: people making the choice of our governmental representatives should be informed and properly disposed. The Founders thought it very important to use voting as a means to establish the representatives in our government, but they knew the masses could be impassioned and misled.

Here’s another hint: recall the beginning of the Pledge of Allegiance. “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands…” Now the pledge has no authoritative standing, but it has been around since the late 19th century, and represented the common knowledge and wisdom of our culture.

Now, before I go any further, one must recall that the names political parties give themselves (today and historically) are not relevant within this discussion. In the Cold War, communist governments called themselves democratic socialist republics. In the United States, today’s Republican party was cobbled together out of the old Whig and Free Soil parties, and once gave birth to the Progressive party (in the early 20th century). Today’s Democratic party began as the anti-federalist Democratic-Republicans! As so much else in politics, you have to look past the labels. So forget about them, for the time being.

Every form of government has to have two things: a source of its legitimacy (hereafter source), and an authority for its actions. In a democracy, the source is the people, and the authority is the majority. If you further define a government as a representative democracy, the source remains the people, but the authority becomes some form of legislature. Communist governments also said the people were the source, but claimed the party was the authority.

Republics can choose different forms of source and authority. A Monarchy can be a republic that chooses God’s divine right as source and a King /Queen as authority (or perhaps vice versa). Our own republic claims the people as source, but establishes a constitution as the authority. How do we know this? Majorities of the U.S. population have frequently been told that what they wanted was not to be, according to the Constitution. Likewise, various governments at the federal and state level have been denied their policies for the same reason. Now, the astute reader will point out that a majority can amend the Constitution. True, but not just any majority: only by a two-thirds majority of both Houses of Congress and three-fourths of the States! As you can see, it is a most difficult proposition, and hardly represents a trump card for “the majority” over the constitution as authority.

Over time, democratic methods have become more and more important within the U.S. republic. Federal senators were originally appointed by the States, to be the voice of the state governments to Washington (in addition to being the curative to the passions of the more democratically-elected House of Representatives). Some states sent poor representatives, since they saw it as a chance to get rid of one of their worst, or because Washington was far away and less important.  In the early 20th century, this led to direct election of federal senators, a victory for democracy but a loss for the state governments, who to this day have no representative to the federal side.

Likewise, various states have experimented (as was intended by the Founders) with greater democracy. California has been at the forefront of this movement, especially with its ballot initiative process that permits simple majorities to enact amendments to the state constitution binding on the state government (recall Proposition 13, which famously tied the state government’s hands with respect to taxes).

Based on the evidence, it is clear the United States began as a republic.  It is fair to say it has changed, and continues to change, toward more democratic aspects and methods. It cannot be called a democracy, even in shorthand. Why does this matter (“now he asks, after I read all this!”)?

That must wait for a future post!

A couple of my close friends are going through one of those quintessential “bad times” we all seem destined to experience eventually. Theirs includes cancer diagnoses (note the plural), which just complicate their lives immeasurably. And it leads other friends to question “why”as in “why is this happening to them?”

The why question is an obvious one under the circumstances, but it is the right question at the wrong time. Let me explain. At its heart, the why question is a search for an answer in order to assign blame. Its premise is that blame can be assigned: but why accept that premise? What makes a person think there is blame to assign? I know that some people trot out “the problem of evil” (an offshoot of the Why question) as a means to question the existence of God. If you are a believing Christian, there is nothing in your faith which would lead you to believe God is responsible for the bad things that happen. If you an atheist or agnostic, why should there be a reason? Sh*t happens, as the bumper sticker says.

Linking the fact that evil happens with the necessity of a cause is like misunderstanding irony: ironic humor requires a cause and effect, or else it is not ironic (an aside which permits me to post Alanis Morissette’s infamous song “Ironic”, which has either the most confused lyrics in the history of music <!>, or is meta-ironic, since a song about irony contains none.  You be the judge.)

But I digress. The larger problem in my opinion is asking the Why question at the wrong time.  Consider this allegory: Tax filing deadlines approach (public service announcement: they do!). You decide tomorrow is the day to complete your taxes. The night before, you order-in the spiciest Thai meal you can stand, open a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, and stay up all night watching a “Die Hard” marathon on TNT. The next morning, as you gather your tax documentation, you wonder why it is so hard to understand tax instructions through a pounding headache and upset stomach.

Good question, bad timing. The why question is an important philosophical (and/or theological) question. The best time to ask it is not when you are hurting, physically or psychically, but when you are clear-headed and relaxed. Everyone must answer the why question eventually: refusing to consider it is just another way of answering it. So it is an important question. Like most important questions, it deserves careful attention, rational thought, and concentration.

Next time you’re sitting back on a beautiful day, after a good meal, with a fine Port (or Scotch, or your adult beverage of choice), consider it properly. Why…is there good in the world?  Why have so many good things happened to me and those I know and love? In a world that is “red in tooth and claw,” (Tennyson), where evolution determines how the species progress and Nature does not care if it rains on your wedding day (sorry, Alanis), why is there any good at all?

Aye, that’s a good question!