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The Political Sins of Jon Stewart
Roderick P. Hart & E. Johanna Hartelius
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Critical Studies in Media Communication
Vol. 24, No. 3, August 2007, pp. 263 272
Critical Forum
The Political Sins of Jon Stewart
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Roderick P. Hart & E. Johanna Hartelius
We accuse Jon Stewart of political heresy. We find his sins against the Church of
Democracy to be so heinous that he should be branded an infidel and made to wear
sackcloth and ashes for at least two years, during which time he would not be allowed
to emcee the Oscars, throw out the first pitch at the Yankee’s game, or eat at the
Time-Warner commissary.
Our specific charge is that Mr. Stewart has engaged in unbridled political cynicism.
And it is no coincidence that ‘‘sin’’ and ‘‘cynicism’’ have an assonant quality. But we
are not accusing Mr. Stewart of being an apostate, one who has abandoned
the Democratic Faith altogether. Unlike an apostate, a heretic professes faith in the
overall tenets of the religion but disagrees with, or fails to practice, or tries to
undermine, its most vital beliefs. In contrast, Mr. Stewart cleverly claims to advance
the tenets of democracy during his nightly assignations while in truth leading
the Children of Democracy astray. He plants in them a false knowledge, a trendy
awareness that turns them into bawdy villains and wastrels. ‘‘If anyone,’’ says
the apostle Paul, ‘‘preach to you a gospel, besides that you have received, let him be
anathema’’ (Galations 1:9). ‘‘Receive him not into your house nor say to him, God
speed you,’’ says John (II, 1:10). A person of such mien who ‘‘will not hear the
Church,’’ says Matthew (18:17), should be regarded as ‘‘the heathen and the
publican.’’ We think that Jon Stewart is both a heathen and a publican.
Naturally, we understand that Stewart is also very, very popular. That is part of our
charge against him. Jon Stewart makes cynicism attractive; indeed, he makes it
profitable. Each night, he saps his audience’s sense of political possibility even as he
helps AT&T sell its wares. Stewart urges them to steer clear of conventional politics
and to do so while steering a Nissan. Mr. Stewart is especially attractive to young
people, so his website offers them portable cynicism in the form of CDs, DVDs,
clothes, books, and collectibles. Stewart knows there’s money to be made in cynicism.
Roderick P. Hart holds the Shivers Chair in Communication and Government at the University of Texas at
Austin. He can be reached at [email protected]. Johanna Hartelius is a doctoral candidate in the
Communication Studies Department at the University of Texas at Austin (1 University Station, A1105; Austin,
TX 78712-01105). She can be reached at [email protected]
ISSN 0739-3180 (print)/ISSN 1479-5809 (online) # 2007 National Communication Association
DOI: 10.1080/07393180701520991
264 R. P. Hart & E. J. Hartelius
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We do not object to Mr. Stewart’s making a buck but we do object to his making
cynicism atmospheric, a mist that hovers over us each day. The United States is, after
all, still the wonder of the world, the most successful mass democracy known to
humankind. Why, then, the cynicism? Why the sneer and the grimace and the growl
about matters political? Jon Stewart, that’s why.
We know that, for many academics, Stewart is a political savior, an emblem of the
subversive, take-no-prisoners attitude needed to comfort the afflicted and afflict the
comfortable. Some observers even find Stewart to be a staunch defender of
democratic values, a person who undermines a thousand pomposities each night.
We disagree and begin our argument by examining the essential nature of cynicism.
The Tools of Cynicism
Jon Stewart’s persona can best be understood by reflecting on classical forms of
Cynicism. Our basic contention is that Stewart’s antics let him evade critical
interrogation, thereby making him a fundamentally anti-political creature. Stewart
does not stimulate a polis to have new and productive thoughts; like his ancient
predecessors, he merely produces inertia. Classical cynicism is distinguishable from,
although not unrelated to, the ‘‘disparaging use of the term as an attitude that is
negative and sneering’’ (Cutler, 2005, p. 8). Historically, the Cynics were a motley
crew of thinkers in Greece during the fourth and third century B.C. who critiqued
what they saw as the artificiality of social convention in all forms, both intellectual
and political. Since antiquity, Cynicism has been at once a movement and an attitude,
a way of perceiving the world, sometimes even a way of life.
Jon Stewart is a multi-mediated reincarnation of the classical Cynic. Just as the
Cynics’ agenda was to ridicule social and political norms by violating them in the
most physically grotesque ways, Stewart foregrounds and mocks the generic
conventions of his times. Two tropes in particular characterize Stewart’s brand of
Cynicism: diatribe and chreia.
Diatribe
A diatribe is a way to shock, criticize, and deride a public figure. It is ‘‘a litigious
monologue’’ that ‘‘appeals to an imaginary adversary and as such is an exposition
more than an argument, since there is only room for one main speaker’’ (Cutler,
2005, p. 36). The Cynics used diatribe to tweak social conventions and to reveal their
inherent arbitrariness. The diatribe reduces ‘‘conventional beliefs to the ridiculous,
thereby making those who support orthodoxy seem contemptible’’ (p. 8). In the
Cynical worldview, any adherence to conventional practices is deplorable. In
contemporary politics, that would include all electoral processes such as voting.
To understand how the diatribe is used, let us peruse two examples: (1) a letter
from Crates (a well-known Cynic and pupil of Diogenes) directed to the Athenians
and (2) a selection from Stewart’s best-selling book, America (The Book): A Citizen’s
Guide to Democracy Inaction (2005):
Critical Forum: Jon Stewart
265
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Crates to the Athenians
I hear that you are in need of money. Therefore, sell your horses and you will have
money. Then, whenever there is a need for horses, vote that your asses are horses.
For this has become your custom in every matter: not to do what is proper for your
needs but to do what has been voted upon. But if there is a lack of realism in
important matters, it nevertheless does not do away with the need, even in minor
matters. (Malherbe, 1977, p. 75)
Stewart: ‘‘Of Course Your Vote Counts!’’
In every election, many people grapple with the nagging suspicion their vote
doesn’t count. As a citizen and someone who is always right, it is respectively my
duty and my pleasure to tell them they are wrong. In fact, our democracy depends
on every citizen recognizing the value of his or her vote. And here is the value of
that vote. In the most recent presidential election 105,360,260 people cast ballots.
That means each person’s vote counted .000000949%. I defy you to find a
mathematician who will tell you that number is less than or equal to zero. Okay, so
we can agree, your vote counts. It counts .000000949%. Swish that around in your
mouth for a while. How does it taste? Taste like freedom? ’Cause to me it tastes like
jack-all squat. (Stewart, Karlin, & Javerbaum, 2005, p. 121)
As we see here, both writers mock the democratic ideal which assumes that voting
is a worthwhile mode of participation. In the first excerpt, the underlying assumption
is that citizens too often vote on matters that demand better, more immediate
actions. Crates also implies that voting cannot effect really important changes and so
it becomes a chimera. That is, a society cannot turn asses into horses simply by voting
such realities into existence. Likewise, in the second excerpt, the belief that voting is a
civic duty is examined and ridiculed. Stewart suggests that citizens’ disillusionment
with their own political impotence is more than justified given its negligible statistical
significance.
The format of The Daily Show illustrates use of the diatribe quite well. On the
show, one finds occasional interruptions by field reporters but otherwise Stewart is a
one man band. He speaks directly to the camera, not with an interlocutor. Stewart
rarely argues with an opponent but rants at an implied adversary or a universal
audience. With the introduction of each new segment, Stewart’s monologue is
interspersed with clips from more traditional news coverage, on which he dialogically
comments. Stewart skillfully excerpts statements made by public figures and then
comments on them in ways that makes them seem absurd. Like any good
poststructuralist, Stewart regards the techniques of displacement and pastiche as
inherent moral goods.
The diatribe is not only a critique of an imaginary adversary but an
‘‘extemporaneous sermon’’ in which audiences are led to experience the totality of
what is wrong-headed (Windt, 1972, p. 7). Directly confronting the audience is
therefore one of Stewart’s trademarks. He is critical of the political establishment but
also of the citizenry, his intended audience. For example, next to a page-size photo of
Plato in Stewart’s book, one finds two quotations (Stewart et al., 2005, p. xii).
Pericles: ‘‘It is true that we are called a democracy, for the administration is in the
hands of the many and not the few.’’ Responds Socrates: ‘‘Yes, Pericles, but have you
266 R. P. Hart & E. J. Hartelius
gotten a load of the many?’’ (p. xii). The attitude that permeates Stewart’s America
(The Book) is one of smug superiority; it presumes that the reader knows so little
about the history of civilization and political processes and foreign and domestic
policy, etc. that any distorted story will suffice. Put differently, the authors treat their
readers as persons who do not know the subject matter at hand and who are
contented with their ignorance. The diatribe’s characteristic admonishment of the
audience’s sins becomes, with Stewart, a preemptive insult cloaked in a sly,
conspiratorial sense of bonhomie.
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Chreia
A chreia is a ‘‘concise reminiscence aptly attributed to some character’’ (Hock &
O’Neil, 1986, p. 23). It is a ‘‘brief statement of an incident or situation followed by a
pungent remark’’ (Cutler, 2005, p. 37). Chreia are typically Cynical tropes
characterized by black humor, paradox or surprise, and ethical seriousness (ibid.).
Chreia are integrated into the very form of The Daily Show, with a clip from an
office-holder’s public statement often followed by Stewart’s acidic commentary. For
example, a segment entitled Terror Blues addressed the recent 9/11 Commission
Report. Says Stewart: ‘‘The Report was harshly critical of the Bush administration.
How did they respond?’’ The camera cuts to a clip of Dan Bartlett, counselor to the
President, who says: ‘‘We think it’s important that Homeland Security dollars go to
where the threats are. We can’t rest on our laurels.’’ Cut back to Stewart at the desk:
‘‘Read the Report! They’re saying you have no laurels! You’re laurel-less! Clearly there
is room for improvement.’’
Another segment entitled Indecent Proposal discussed Congress’s and the FCC’s
hearings on cable television’s allegedly indecent programming. Stewart again
introduces the topic: ‘‘Congress had a different super villain in its sights: the cable
television industry and its litany of atrocities.’’ Cut to a clip of Kevin Martin, FCC
chairman: ‘‘The use of profanity during the family hour has increased 95% from 1998
to 2002.’’ Stewart’s response: ‘‘There is a family hour?! Well, fuck a duck!’’ Later in the
same segment, a clip of Roberta Combs of the Christian Coalition is provided. Combs
testifies: ‘‘I grew up in the 1950s. Ozzie and Harriet, Howdy Doody, and Mickey Mouse
Club entertained us on TV. Television promoted good family values.’’ Stewart cuts in
to complete the statement in a satirical tone: ‘‘And Black people couldn’t use the same
water fountains. Good times! People really knew the values then!’’
Jon Stewart’s use of Cynicism constitutes a performance, a construction in the
truest sense of the term. His discourses are both an art form and a style, a type of
display more than a type of argument. As such, Stewart’s performances become ends
in themselves rather than ways of changing social or political realities. The rhetoric of
Cynicism is both casuistic (Jonsen & Toulmin, 1988) and malleable, letting Stewart
dodge any real accountability for the viewpoints he offers (or defers).
For instance, one of Stewart’s better parlor tricks is easily seen in his famous
Crossfire appearance of 2004 where he played two personae at once. When scolding
Paul Begala and Tucker Carlson and, by implication, all contemporary media
Critical Forum: Jon Stewart
267
personalities, Stewart played the concerned citizen, a serious participant in the affairs
of the day. But as soon as the hosts agreed to engage him on those terms, Stewart
slipped away. For example, when Carlson pointed out that Stewart’s interview with
John Kerry lacked ‘‘serious questions,’’ he responded with pontification cum outrage:
‘‘If your idea of confronting me is that I don’t ask hard-hitting enough news
questions, we’re in bad shape, fellows.’’ He later exclaimed: ‘‘You’re on CNN. The
show that leads into me is puppets making crank phone calls!’’
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U.S. Professional Cynics
In using such stratagems, Jon Stewart is in good company. The U.S. has always had
more than its share of professional cynics*Lenny Bruce, George Carlin, Dennis
Miller, Bill Maher. But this is not to say that Stewart’s business is the business of
politics. Stewart is, instead, a dandy, a jester; he is dilatory. The classical Cynics would
be untroubled by such characterizations since they had no desire to participate in the
business of politics. Indeed, they desired nothing at all. Their view was that rational
argumentation implied a kind of contract whereby arguers agreed to disagree in
pursuit of some common end*philosophical truth, better policy, new insight.
Neither the ancient Cynics nor the late-night comedians like Stewart make such
agreements. Because they are on display, cynics are happy with either our adulation
or our revulsion because, mainly, they want our attention. In today’s world, attention
is where the publicity is and also where the money is.
Politics, of course, depends on more than mere attention. It depends on serious
beliefs seriously pursued. Cynicism, in contrast, promotes only itself, summoning
followers to abandon conventional society and its stultifying love of order, predictability, and progress. Cynicism rarely fosters social change (Cutler, 2005, p. 20)
because social change is inevitably fueled by desire. For the ancient Cynics, desiring
nothing was a way to rid oneself of material culture and the various kinds of civic
progress to which ordinary mortals are attracted. A prerequisite to engagement, after
all, is having the motivation to engage. It is this motivation*this engagement*that
made the world too messy, too liminal for the ancient Cynics. Diogenes called himself
a ‘‘prophet of indifference’’ (Malherbe, 1977, p. 115). Jon Stewart sings that song as
well.
But to understand cynicism fully, one must also examine its preferred audience.
What is it about cynicism that compels so many? Why does classical Cynicism still
have a gravitational pull on contemporary Americans? What needs do they have,
what tastes do they savor, that only cynicism can satisfy? If cynicism makes people
hard and brittle, why do they crave it? If cynicism makes them tired and dispirited,
why do they seek it out? These are not simple questions but they do demand answers.
The Lure of Cynicism
The question we ask here is this: Why does it feel good to feel bad about politics?
Another way of asking the question is to ask why so many Americans willingly
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268 R. P. Hart & E. J. Hartelius
collude with Jon Stewart each evening. Wherein lies their appetite for cynicism? Why
do they buy books like Jim Hightower’s If the Gods Had Meant Us to Vote They’d Have
Given Us Candidates (2000)? How can they, the children of the millennium, scoff at
Washington’s inefficiencies when it rewards them with the Genome project, the
Internet, the international space station, help with hurricanes and pestilence and
AIDS, and a public education system that teaches immigrant children how to read?
Why is it so easy to say ‘‘Don’t vote. It only encourages them’’?
We argue here that cynicism is not really an attitude but a style of language, a way
of talking. Like any language, cynicism is taught, practiced, and perfected. It is also
self-reinforcing: The more often it is spoken the hardier it becomes. If one speaks it,
another is likely to follow suit. If Jon Stewart speaks it, everyone joins in.
Why think of cynicism as a language and not a feeling state? Because feeling states
are dark and complicated and strange. A language, on the other hand, is powerful
only if used. When people forget, or refuse, to speak it, it goes away, just as languages
like Cornish and Akkadian and Sumerian have gone away. Some people mourn these
lost languages for, in losing them, they have lost a distinctive way of experiencing life.
Not so with cynicism. By refusing to speak it, a person loses nothing of value. By
thinking of cynicism as a language and not as an internal psychological state we
disempower it. By refusing to speak it, we disempower it further.
And now a formally stated premise: Cynicism involves an athletic depiction of
human frailty and institutional corruption and an artful delineation of mass
unhappiness. This premise treats cynicism as an admixture of religion and rhetoric
and aesthetics. Above all, cynicism is zealous and evangelical. It finds its rationale in
its constant, serial discoveries*of perfidy in the Congress, of money in the Pentagon,
of lust in the White House. These matters provide the cynic with new opportunities
to deliver self-confirming epistles to modern Corinthians. It is the telling, the
disclosing*what J. L. Austin (1970) calls the speech act*that gives cynicism its
kerygmatic force. The cynic becomes both priest and follower in such a scheme,
personally providing the illocutionary force needed to keep hope dead.
If cynicism is a religion, it is an Old Testament religion. No Redeemer need apply.
Human inadequacy, if not human depravity, is its theme. Personal triumphs are
either short-lived or contrived and daily life is reduced to yet-to-be-discovered sins.
Today’s football champion becomes tomorrow’s greed-meister. Yesterday’s civil rights
leader becomes today’s adulterer. Tomorrow’s president is spawned from today’s
misfits. In such a world, all singers lip-synch.
In many ways, the cynic has a bucolic mindset that longs for a world untrammeled
by human inventions. Accordingly, the cynic is distrustful of institutions, which are
seen as corrupt and corrupting. The cynic sees modernity as dangerous because its
baubles ensnare the too-trusting soul. The rustic resists such enticements and sees
economic crimes as emblematic of an innocence lost: Michael Milken, Ivan Boesky,
Martha Stewart, Ken Lay, Jack Abramoff. These synecdoches trip off the tongue, their
mere mention being a kind of political conclusion.
Finally, the cynic’s speech is promissory in nature. Time does not unfold for the
cynic; it re-presents itself. Today is just another yesterday. Details, subtleties, oddities,
Critical Forum: Jon Stewart
269
and exceptions are excluded from such a world, a world where all past is prologue and
where data are meaningful only when linked to broad thematics. Recovery, not
discovery, is the cynic’s key intellectual mission, which is why dramatis personae are
featured so heavily. In the cynic’s world there is a clear, bright thread of integument
among Richard Nixon’s crimes and Ronald Reagan’s crimes and Bill Clinton’s crimes
and the yet-to-be-discovered crimes of George W. Bush. Professional historians
instinctively question such easy generalizations. Cynics see professional historians as
tedious, if not daft.
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Why is Cynicism So Popular?
If cynicism is so dispiriting, why is it popular? For one thing, cynicism provides
communal coinage, a way of staving off what Kenneth Burke (1984) calls hierarchical
embarrassment. This makes cynicism especially attractive to adolescents, persons
desperately trying to fit into groups previously taken for granted. Even college honors
students become caught in the trap. At the end of one semester, for example, one of
our students reflected on her first day in class. Said she: ‘‘I was scared to open my
mouth that day because I didn’t have anything cynical to say.’’ What makes a bright
20-year-old assume that cynicism is her only option for making friends? What are we
doing to our children, to one another, in making a remote self the only self worth
having?
In these and other ways, Jon Stewart & Co. are bullies who force us into one and
only one way of imagining the world. Those who submit to such demands do so
because they are plagued by a free-floating age-anxiety. For the young, that is,
cynicism is a way of sounding older, more worldly, a way of announcing that all life
is dross, that social organizations and continuing commitments*the very essence of
politics*are passé. James Dean struck this posture in the 1950s and Janis Joplin
brought it into the 1970s. Eminem is their direct heir.
But if cynicism makes the young old, it is also an elixir for the mature, allowing
middle-aged stiffs to make one last grab for youth. Charitably, Jon Stewart teaches
them how to decry public life. Can one discuss politics at the suburban cocktail
party? Of course one can: ‘‘Well, what do you think about the mess in Washington
these days, Fred? You can’t trust any of ’em, can you?’’
Cynicism also appeals to us at an aesthetic level. Because cynicism is omnivorous, it
fits all political data into its giant maw, making individual details serve a larger
dramatic purpose. Typically, the cynic is preoccupied with questions of motive and
that has great rhetorical advantage. In a motival world, after all, mere behavior
becomes meaningless: collecting for the United Way is seen as a way of currying favor
in the neighborhood; becoming a teacher proves you can’t cut it in business; winning a
community award establishes one as a social climber. In all such cases, motive
inevitably negates behavior, allowing the cynical interpretation to emerge triumphant.
In Kenneth Burke’s (1962) terms, the cynic becomes a dramatist for entirely
functional reasons: (1) motives are inevitably mysterious, pointing to a world of
endless fascinations, endless discoveries; (2) motives are ultimately undeterminable,
270 R. P. Hart & E. J. Hartelius
thereby giving amateurism a kind of universal expertise; at the same time, however,
(3) motives are exquisitely documentable, which is to say, any known behavior can be
retrofitted as ‘‘evidence’’ for the motival allegation. The cynic, therefore, lives in a
self-sealing world where no claim can be proven false and all claims retain an air of
plausibility. Jon Stewart becomes an artist with such colors in his palette.
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Television
Stewart is also on television, and television, we argue, is cynicism’s most reliable
delivery system. Television combines the youthful, collective, and psychological
overtones cynicism needs, a point made some years ago in Seducing America (Hart,
1994). A contrasting view is that of Robert Putnam (2000), who feels that television’s
main problem is that it takes too much of our time, thereby keeping us away from
communal ties. In contrast, we argue that television has become our emotional tutor,
teaching us which of our feelings are proper and which passé, which sports stars are
worthy of emulation and which are fools. Television teaches these lessons subtly and,
like any good teacher, it never takes credit for the teaching. Indeed, the medium
consistently underestimates its importance (‘‘It’s only TV, after all’’) and so the
remote control device in our hand provides a sense of power, perhaps even a sense of
dominance. Television makes us feel smart and busy.
Why do television’s cynicisms have such a hold over us? Why do late-night
comedians escape the deconstructions applied to other social actors? Why do
professors so often assume that being cynical is the only way to reach their students?
Why does French postmodernism intimidate us so thoroughly? Why do so many
academics want to become Jon Stewart?
Television is at least part of the answer because it is so presentistic. CNN junkies
watch the news all day, forcing CNN to make as much news as possible. Politicians
cooperate, responding to every question asked lest they lose their moment in the sun.
A time-anxious people is a demanding people, quickly bored and often surly. Such
people become impatient with intractable problems*poverty, for example, disease
and environmental degradation too*which is manifestly unfortunate since only
governments can solve such problems.
Real politics is hard, frustrating work. Instead of wrestling with such matters,
cynics like Jon Stewart teach us how to cop an attitude. Why is copping an attitude
now such an obsession? Because with television we can all be young, clever . . . and
lazy. Cynics place faith in observation, not participation, and see irony as the only
stable source of pleasure. Cynics embrace term limit laws because they minimize a
citizen’s need to stay informed. Cynics embrace third-party candidacies because
television adores the null hypothesis. Cynics like talk radio because only opinions, not
facts, are needed during drive-time.
Because cynics are so attracted to the logic of the instance, their remarks constitute
an incompetent science and a deplorable mathematics. Television overcomes these
shortcomings by treating vivid, unrepresentative cases as if they were the norm. From
among the approximately 3,500 different persons who have served in the U.S. House
Critical Forum: Jon Stewart
271
of Representatives between 1954 and the present, television treats Jim Wright, Newt
Gingrich, and Mark Foley as prototypes when, of course, they are exceptions. From
among the roughly 52,000 Catholic priests in the United States it features the one
pedophile in New Mexico who failed to get treatment. From among the 1,500
charitable organizations in Cincinnati, Ohio it selects the one scam operation for the
evening news. Data like these are compelling in the hands of a Jon Stewart but they
also require complete ignorance of the normal curve.
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Conclusion
If the reader does not believe in the power of Jon Stewart’s brand of cynicism, try
making our argument with your peers. Argue that state politics is our only hope as a
nation, that individuals are imperfect but that groups of individuals are extraordinary
when they make common cause. Argue that many political traditions are good and
that linear styles of thinking can be beautiful. Argue that all easy generalizations
about American politics fail every known scientific test. If the reader feels especially
brave, try arguing that far more is unknown about the world than is known.
It will take a great deal of courage to think any of these thoughts, never mind say
them. Stewart’s culture of cynicism is hard to reject because it rests so securely within
those of us raised on television, persons who have come to believe that the only way
of seeming smart is to sound like Jon Stewart. But the academic heritage provides an
alternative style*the language of skepticism.
While cynicism is sloppy science, skepticism is not. The skeptic believes in these
things: (1) because sensory powers are limited, appearances can deceive; (2) because
impulsiveness is dangerous, deep reflection about human affairs is best; (3) because
people are social creatures, and hence imitative, conventional wisdom is rarely wise;
(4) because people are fallible, one should never trust a single source of information;
and (5) because most data are mediated, primary (not secondary) sensation should
be prized. With these as its tenets, skepticism becomes an important adjunct to
enlightened political decision-making. The skeptic has no need for the cynics’
foundational myths (e.g., original sin) or for their conceptions of the future (e.g., that
perdition is near) since the world is constantly unfolding, reshaping itself all the
while. Skeptics are buoyed up by the need to know.
Because life is complex, an enlightened politics requires a considerable amount of
skepticism. But unlike the cynic, the skeptic can have faith in human institutions
because they are fashioned by group effort, not by lone individuals, and because the
ravages of time rarely vanquish them. Institutions are Darwinian to the core,
constantly being reinvigorated, constantly requiring self-cleansing, and so it is not
surprising that they have become the focal point of the modern state. This is not to
say they are perfect. Slavery was something of an institution, after all, and sexism and
ageism have found institutional shelter as well. Eliminating such deficiencies is the
business of government.
Even a moment’s reflection will reveal the institutional arrangements that have
enriched Americans’ lives*taxation with representation, bi-partisan government,
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272 R. P. Hart & E. J. Hartelius
the Library of Congress, permissive voter-registration laws, Yellowstone National
Park, the Social Security Administration, a peace-time army, meat and poultry
inspection, the National Centers for Disease Control, the space shuttle. All these
bureaux and processes, all these gray ghosts of government, have emanated from the
collective will of the American people. They have stood the test of time; they have
served the commonweal. It is possible to critique them endlessly but it is boring to do
so. The long view of history finds that the only solution to bad politics is more
politics.
As Jeremy Rabkin (1995) observes, someone needs to write a political counterpart
to William Bennett’s Book of Virtues (1993). In his book, Bennett lionizes a set of
highly individualistic virtues: self-discipline, responsibility, work, courage, perseverance, honesty, loyalty, faith. Fine virtues, every one. Equally fine, but harder to
achieve, are the following: cooperation, civility, generosity, negotiation, tolerance,
regularity, compromise. These are quintessentially political virtues for they celebrate
people’s dependence on one another. Television rarely dramatizes them.
A democratic people dare not let these virtues go unloved. A democratic people
must find ways of making them central to the education of youth, to giving children a
new way of talking. Doing so has become hard work, sometimes Sisyphian work, but
that makes it no less important. Says Albert Camus (1955, p. 91): ‘‘The struggle itself
toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus
happy.’’ Jon Stewart makes it hard to imagine such a thing. Those with courage must
imagine it instead. We have nothing to lose, after all, but cynicism itself and that, we
argue, is no loss at all.
References
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