In which Shep Smith inadvertently (re)discovers the real meaning of a shining city on a hill

Here’s Shep Smith, yesterday, on torture:

Is there gonna come a time when we can just look and go, ‘we did bad things. We shouldn’t have done those bad things. We better make sure these bad things don’t happen again, because, as Ronald Reagan said, we’re a shining city on a hill. We’re America, we don’t torture.

Good ol’ Shep has just transgressed against the civil religion. In Reagan’s conception of the shining city on a hill phrase, it might be said that America is great, therefore America can torture. We’re an exceptional nation, favored by God, so we can do what we want, including conducting extraordinary renditions, operating black sites, rectally feeding detainees, lying to Congress, and so on, in the name of preserving our exceptionality.

This use of the phrase — a shining city as implying the right to meddle in the affairs of other nations because of our supposed moral superiority — is totally unmoored from any conception of the phrase prior to John F. Kennedy. In fact, in the original document by John Winthrop, it’s not even a very important one, and if anything is an exhortation that the new nation beware, for it would be judged by both God and the world for its failings. And that’s what Shep seems to be implying here.

Richard Gamble wrote an excellent book on this forgotten history, so I sent this clip to him. He replied:

Smith did capture the older, weightier sense of humility and moral character — that the American people have a responsibility to be an example of right conduct in the world, a nation of integrity and self-respect where the means do matter and not just the ends. That older ideal is a far cry from the “arrogance of power.”

More from Christopher Lasch, in The True And Only Heaven:

When the Jews referred to themselves as the chosen people, they meant that they had agreed to submit to a uniquely demanding set of ethical standards, not that they were destined to rule the world or to enjoy special favors from heaven. The seventeenth-century Puritan settlers of New England, much indebted to the Old Testament for their conception of a collective identity, understood their mission in the same way. From this point of view, history mattered because it was under divine judgment, not because it led inevitably to the promised land. Whether the chosen people wold prove themselves worthy of the blessings arbitrarily bestowed on them was an open question, not a foregone conclusion; and the prophetic tradition, central to Judaism, to Augustinian Catholicism, and to early Protestantism, served to recall them, again and again, to a painful awareness of their own shortcomings. Prophecy made history much more the record of moral failure than a promise of ultimate triumph.

Here’s Tom Woods’ review of Gamble’s book.

Jane Hewes, Ron Paul

You don’t win converts by being rude

“I’m going to be 100% honest with you,” her email started. “I want you there but I don’t want [her] there.” That’s the excuse I was given for why I was not invited to a friend’s engagement party. As an ardent anarcho-libertarian, she didn’t want my girlfriend in attendance. My expected guest committed the gravest of sins: she “honestly believed Romney would be a good president.” That belief might as well be the same as robbing starving children of their last scraps of food. My girlfriend also had the audacity of criticizing libertarians for both being too purist and not casting a ballot for Governor Romney when it mattered. In the libertarian world, this accusation is the equivalent of first degree murder. So she must be shunned.

When I first received the email, I stared at it for a minute before clicking off and hitting the “trash” button. At first I smirked about the declined invitation. I used to be a militant defender of libertarian non-politics. I avoided company with government workers, preferring to withhold my presence from those awful “thieves and murderers.” I understood where the disinvitation was coming from. But even still, I was hurt by the sentiment. I was being kept out of gathering of friends because of my girlfriend’s political beliefs. She’s not some bullhorn Republican, aggressively deriding everyone who doesn’t vote straight R. She’s as amicable around liberals as she is around conservatives and libertarians. This was strictly politics.

The liberal press loves to fret about the current polarization in politics facing America. Tea Party Republicans are painted as intolerant of compromise. President Obama’s aloof stance toward the loyal opposition is seen as a necessary undertaking if he is ever to get anything done. Washington, we’re told, is a town divided on ideological lines that is as cynical as it is inept. There’s a lot of truth in these caricatures. But the American polity isn’t all that venomous or divided as it was two centuries ago. In the contentious campaign between then-President John Adams and then-Vice President Thomas Jefferson, sycophants from both sides called the candidates everything from “a hideous hermaphroditical character” to a “gross hypocrite.” If anything, political discourse has cooled down to a level of respectful civility.

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Adam Gurri on telescopic morality

From Front Porch Republic:

There is one version of the history of modern media that is a story primarily about a drug, developed to make its users feel anger with delightful intensity. Refinement of this drug has made some great leaps in a very short time — it used to be you had to wait until a certain time of day to get it. Then you had to deal with having it mixed in with a lot of filler material. Now you can go straight to the social media site of your choice, where you and your fellow junkies can trade images of victims overlayed with condemning quotes, or infographics which expose injustice in striking bar and pie charts. And now the shared experience of other people’s outrage has become part of the concoction, and it is immeasurably more potent as a result.

Like actual chemically-induced pleasures, in excess this anger is a sickness. It consumes your waking thoughts, and takes your vitality with you when it leaves. When the dose is administered, an extreme form of tunnel vision sets in. You get sucked into a monomaniacal focus on the object of some injustice, far away from you or anyone you know, and are temporarily unable to see anything that is actually a part of your life. You lose sight of vulgar morality, the stuff that really matters, and succumb to the siren song of telescopic morality. You rage at things you cannot control at the expense of time you could be investing improving the state of affairs around you, for your family, your community. The long term effect of mainlining telescopic morality is utter hollowness; ethical triviality.

You wouldn’t like ‘what democracy looks like’

Latest at TheDC:

… the dirty little secret is that the elites and the protesters operate like a protection racket against a common enemy: America’s middle class. In Ferguson, mobs smash and burn middle-class businesses, while the organs of elite media advise in columns and editorials that you’d better give them what they’re asking for.

With that in mind, protesters should beware that the middle class will only stomach so many delayed commutes. And “direct democracy,” from their perspective, would mean running the protesters over with a truck.

Order of the Seven Serpents

The latest satanic panic — rape

Fredrik deBoer gainsays Adam Kotsko‘s assertion that the left‘s response to the right‘s outrage against Lena Dunham‘s supposed molestation of her sister is a symptom of an irresolvable intra-progressive problem. Here’s what deBoer quoted from Kotsko:

I have started to notice how often politically-charged online memes open out onto a “no-win vortex.” Take the example of the cat-calling video. On the one hand, it calls attention to street harrassment, which is a very real problem. On the other hand, it was edited in a racist way in the service of a gentrification campaign. How does one respond? It seems that no matter which direction you go, someone loses — you either wind up downplaying the destructiveness of racism and gentrification or dismissing the seriousness of the atmosphere of harrassment that women have to navigate.

The same goes for the Lena Dunham affair. On the one hand, I’m shocked that anyone on the left would buy into the framing of a right-wing smear campaign that is structurally identical to the “moral panics” that legitimate homophobia (and, even worse, that trivializes real child sexual abuse). On the other hand, though, I don’t want to dismiss black women’s very justified critique of white feminists who claim to speak for all women while ignoring black women’s very existence. They may be jumping on this because they previously disliked and distrusted Lena Dunham — but we can’t ignore that they had excellent, indisputable reasons to dislike and distrust her. And much of what they’ve said about how Dunham gets the benefit of the doubt while a black child would be painted as a monster is sadly true. Simply responding that no child should be painted as a monster seems a little too easy.

I have genuine progressive sympathies. It’s pretty easy to miss – progressivism is hip and I love playing the devil’s advocate. Just like progressives, I want to live in a more just, more inclusive world where less people get hurt and more  people see a rise in quality of life. The distinction between myself and progressives is the is a distinction between things that lead to good results, the truth, and things that sound good, the narrative.

Being a white male sends deBoer into that kind of nebbish, sweaty hand-wringing. He points out the folly of white male social justice types:

But we also have the hammer, and it’s pretty much the only one people like Kotsko have to wield: my opponents are White Dudes! Now, the shrewd type might point out that, contrary to the cultural expectation in the Grand Progressive Mutual Admiration Society in the Cloud, saying “you don’t have the credibility to argue that” is not actually an example of rebutting that argument. And a really observant soul might notice that Kotsko himself is a White Dude. (I would actually increase the number of capitals for Kotsko, like, WhItE DUde, personally.) Ah, but you see, when Kotsko critiques White Dudeism, he does so from the premise that he is exempt from that critique. He is writing about Those Other White Dudes. Actually, it goes further than that: he is critiquing white dudes precisely because, in so doing, he sets himself outside of that group. It’s an act of pure preemption. The same old question applies: if engaging in these political discourses didn’t end up with you positioned as the righteous exception to the immoral rule, would you bother? If your arguments didn’t amount to a wriggling out of the very critique that you’re making, would you still make them?

Seems about right. There is bound to be endemic grandstanding in the circle that is the confluence of radical chic, academia, and Hollywood. With no apparent self-awareness, deBoer, who just spent one thousand words slamming Kotsko for playing that tired progressive signaling game, is now doing the exact same thing. He uses the term “white dude” in various ways, all of which are supposed to appear endearing, so as to signal that he is higher in the progressive pecking order because of just how savvy he is of the “white dudeness” of others and himself. Where normally the best move would be stating a good progressive opinion, the winning move here is to not play. By recusing himself from weighing in on certain issues that white dudes shouldn’t be allowed to weigh in on, he separates himself from Those Other White Dudes that don’t know when to shut the hell up. Winning points has nothing to do with dialogue. It has everything to do with the shutting down of dialogue.

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Sacred Harp Christmas Edition: ‘Bonnie Doon’

When, marshaled on the nightly plain,
The glittering hosts bestud the sky,
One star alone of all the train
Can fix the sinner’s wandering eye.

Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem;
But one alone the Savior speaks,
It is the Star of Bethlehem.

Once on the raging seas I rode,
The storm was loud, the night was dark,
The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed
The wind that tossed my foundering bark.

Deep horror then my vitals froze,
Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem;
When suddenly a star arose,
It was the Star of Bethlehem.

It was my guide, my light, my all;
It bade my dark forebodings cease;
And through the storm and danger’s thrall,
It led me to the port of peace.

Now safely, moored, my perils o’er
I’ll sing, first in night’s diadem,
Forever and forevermore,
The star! The Star of Bethlehem!

Not technically in the Sacred Harp, but it’s a Christmas-themed shape note carol. This recording is from a Christmas album by the Tudor Choir. Go buy it, it’s great!

The tune is usually set to lyrics by Robert Burns:

Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon
How ye can bloom so fresh and fair
How can ye chant ye little birds
And I sae weary fu’ o’ care

Ye’ll break my heart ye warbling birds
That wantons thro’ the flowering thorn
Ye mind me o’ departed joys
Departed never to return

Oft hae I rov’d by bonnie Doon
To see the rose and woodbine twine
And ilka bird sang o’ its love
And fondly sae did I o’ mine

Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose
Fu’ sweet upon its thorny tree
But my false lover stole my rose
But ah! She left the thorn wi’ me