Collective Shame and Responsibility
I GOT INTO AN ARGUMENT once with a libertarian friend of mine about apologizing for historical atrocities. It started with a viral Facebook video of a teenage white kid performing slam poetry about apologizing for America’s sins of the past, namely slavery.
My friend was disgusted by it. When I inquired why, he very quickly and adamantly took the position that no one should apologize for something that they didn’t do. He didn’t own slaves. His ancestors, as far as he knew, didn’t own slaves. He was, as all good libertarians should be, adamantly against the institution of slavery and thought it a terrible crime perpetrated on the African-American people. But . . . there was absolutely no reason to blame anyone today for our ancestor’s sins. To do that, to apologize for something that didn’t apply to one’s beliefs, principles, or behaviors was to him — reprehensible.
I remember thinking to myself that to call the kid’s apology disgusting was a bit much. But in retrospect, I think what he really felt was that the kid was weak — that he was caving to liberal/Leftist societal pressure to apologize for things he didn’t do, or more accurately to apologize for being white.
By the way, this was pre-Trump, but just before the 2016 election when this kind of white male resentment and anti-political correctness sentiment was already brewing within conservative circles. Regardless, he didn’t feel guilt or shame on the matter.
“If you can be proud of America for things that you had absolutely nothing to do with, why can’t you feel shame in America for things that you had absolutely nothing to do with?”
In order to probe the argument, I asked him if he considered himself to be a patriot. When he answered that he did, I immediately asked why he thought he was. He looked a little confused by the question and didn’t respond immediately. I waited in silence. I wasn’t sure if he didn’t understand the question or if he hadn’t actually thought about it before. I think sometimes many conservatives assume they are patriots but haven’t really taken the time to reflect on why they are. Rather, they follow the typical party-line that they love their country, no questions asked.
Ultimately, he said because he loved freedom. To which I replied I did too. But I pushed him by saying what does freedom have to do with loving your country? What about America makes us free and why should that make us loyal? “The Declaration of Independence and the Constitution,” he replied.
I agreed on this point as well and went on to say that these founding documents were incredible statements of democratic and republican principles that inspired generations of people around the world to seek liberty and good governance. I asked him what else — what other examples made him love his country.
He proceeded to launch into a litany of America’s best exploits: the expansion West, the ending of slavery, perfecting the Industrial Revolution, surviving a Great Depression, fighting and winning both World Wars and the Cold War and ultimately defeating Soviet Communism, and landing a man on the moon. To which I said many of these things also made me very proud to be an American. I went on to ask him if it would be accurate to say that these things also made him proud to be an American. He said that they did.
Then I asked him if he had anything to do with any of those events that made him proud. He looked at me funny as he said no.
I said: “Then help me understand. If you can be proud of America for things that you had absolutely nothing to do with, why can’t you feel shame in America for things that you had absolutely nothing to do with?”[1]
He stared blankly at me for a moment before he grinned and nodded his head, clearly acknowledging the trap I set for him that he didn’t see coming. He eventually retorted that he just didn’t feel shame and only felt pride and that he didn’t think that he should feel bad about things that he wasn’t responsible for. To which I said the argument still stood and that he hadn’t answered the question.
I drove home the point. If he felt that he shouldn’t feel bad about things that he wasn’t responsible for then I would argue (in order to be consistent) he shouldn’t feel good about things that he wasn’t responsible for as well. Yet, having this view would negate all the principles and accomplishments that we love and cherish about our country and our people.
In sum, my friend could not conceive of the possibility that an honest patriotism is taking into consideration both the good and the bad things that our country has been responsible for. He didn’t think it was possible to dwell in both pride and shame with regard to one’s political community and still be able to inhabit the role of a patriot. With respect to our collective history, conservatives tend to want to focus on the good and ignore the bad parts. I believe they do this because they equate admitting guilt or shame with weakness. I think this is a mistake.
History Has Its Eyes on You
Alisdair McIntyre, the moral philosopher, wrote in his seminal book, After Virtue, that people who do this — those who engage in the argument that because they didn’t participate in perpetrating injustice upon groups in their community because they were born after these events occurred and are exempt from any responsibility — are committing a kind of moral abdication.
McIntyre posited that humans were what he called story-telling beings — or that we had storied selves. From a metaphysical point of view, the storied self is not the idea that we are independent agents born into this reality a blank slate that interacts with other agents in an environment making selfish choices in order to maximize our happiness or utility. Rather, we are characters born into our own story that we share with a cast of other characters who also have their own stories. Every person that we interact with in our lives becomes a character in our story and we in theirs. Choice is still involved in this view of the self, but it plays second fiddle to identity. We all have certain roles that we play throughout our lives that ascribe meaning to us: son/daughter, husband/wife, father/mother, artist, scientist, farmer, teacher, Black, White, rich, poor, citizen, or patriot.
What’s more, we are born into communities that also have a collective story that existed long before we arrived and that will persist long after we’re gone. Various moral constructs such as traditions, customs, rules, roles, virtues, principles, rights, and duties are bound up within the story of a community. The actions and deeds of the characters that comprise the community — which follow from these moral constructs — tell the story of the community.
In short, our moral starting point did not begin with our birth.
Because of this collective story that we all share, we are bound by a kind of solidarity to those who came before us and to those who will precede us. This solidarity imposes on us a moral obligation that remains fixed in space, localized within a community, but it spans the course of time. Though we have never met our Civil War ancestors, we are still bound to them and have inherited their deeds. Conversely, we may never live to see the next generations of Americans who will inhabit this community, but we are still bound to them just as they will inherit our deeds. This is precisely why McIntyre argues that it is a mistake to argue against collective guilt/shame or responsibility.
What Character Are We in This Story?
The reason it is patriotic to accept both the pride of our ancestor’s heroism and the shame of their misdeeds is because through our story, the story of our people — the proud and shameful moments impart specific virtues that are worth cultivating within the community. The misdeeds help to identify vice and ways of being that we should avoid. In short, it communicates a moral to our collective story.
Celebrating our country’s heroism gives us courage and reminds us that we have faced adversity together and we can continue to do so with our heads held high. Conversely, remembering our flaws balances our pride — it humbles us, imparts a sense of humility, and gives us an opportunity for reconciliation with those in our community that have been wronged by the community. Approached with authenticity and action, this can heal injustices.
With communities — as with persons, balancing both pride and shame imparts wisdom. We must always remember that though we are capable of great and wonderful things, we can and do err. This protects us from the calamities that inevitably follow collective hubris — the plague of every great civilization throughout history.
I think it’s important to point out that America is not immune.
In sum, an honest patriotism requires us to balance our collective pride and our collective shame and take responsibility for both. As a people, we need to seriously reflect and ask ourselves: What kind of character are we in the story we’re writing right now?
[1] I credit Michael Sandel for this rhetorical device in Justice. What’s the Right Thing to Do? (p. 235).
