I recently had a conversation with an old acquaintance-turned-friend from a distant land. I do not know how or why we have remained in touch - we disagree on a number of things concerning politics and human nature. More to the point, I offer nothing professionally, and am, in many ways, a failure in his field. Someday, perhaps, I'll know why.
He recently ended his leadership of a scientific institution, and was looking forward to retirement. We chatted recently when he was in town, and he seemed a bit more gloomy than normal.
If I can paraphrase what he communicated, it would be as this:
In my life I have fought in two wars. I have seen war. I have seen peace. I have built a family, a career, an institution. I have mentored students. I have watched walls rise and fall, and rise again. And now, as a forced retirement looms, my pessimism grows. The democratization of education has led to a decline in quality. Students now feel entitled to degrees, or good grades. I fear that, very soon, the only meaningful research that will be done will be in monasteries, as we enter a second dark age.
It was painful for me to hear. Although I had a sense that he was, generally, a pessimist when it came to human nature, it was the most grim I had ever heard him.
I recall the fall of the Wall, the grandeur of Voyager, and the optimism following the collapse of the Soviet Union. I recall that optimism give way to a blend of terror and inaction in Rwanda, in Yugoslavia, in the Congo, in Lebanon and Gaza. I remember 9/11. I remember protesting, naively, ineffectually, the march to war in Iraq. I remember Katrina, and its revelation of the Third World within America. I remember the financial crisis. I remember the Arab Spring. I remember the histrionics of the last two years of politics.
On the specific issues of education and science, I wonder if the democratization of truth, and the monetization of education, will continue to undermine American science and American progress, and whether it will do so irreparably. Our declining attention span, our ability to know increasing numbers of "things" without a corresponding increase in understanding, our worship of beauty and youth over enduring character: all speak poorly of our national priorities and our private chatacter.
And more to the point, I remember my own failure to live up to the standards I had for myself over the last decade. It brings me daily shame and fear, and I do not go to sleep without considering what I have wrought on myself, and on my family.
Although I have not suffered as acutely as others through it all, each failure, each realization of the limitations of human goodness and justice, took away, piece by piece, my faith in America, my faith in democracy, my faith in humanity and God. And it robbed me of my faith in myself.
There is much to lament, much to cause us to lose hope in progress, or in the future.
Yet, as a person who has become acutely aware of the self-destructive nature of certain thought patterns, I feel it is my duty to challenge this bleak outlook. Maybe its cognitive-behavioral conditioning. Maybe it's more primal - the instinct that a life devoid of hope is meaningless and intolerable.
I can't speak for my friend's nation or his people; I can only speak as an American, for it is what I know, and, with the passage of time and distance from school and work, perhaps one of the few identities I have left.
I do not believe in the arc of history, or laws of historical change. Civilizations have reverted to barbarism too frequently to believe in such a thing as permanent progress. This is not to undervalue progress; it is to recognize its fragility. It is also to recognize that it is to the credit of our ancestors, and ourselves, that something approaching an arc - interrupted and irregular that it may be - has emerged. For each step could have been otherwise, were it not for enough brave individuals, of different talents, backgrounds, and dispositions, to see value in the fight.
Through that lens, every step forward becomes important - because there are no guarantees that we, the people, may be led backward, all too often, our own cowardice. Not leaders. Not economics. Not even history. But our own courage, or lack of it.
Every individual, in every generation, either finds the courage to change themselves, and their world, or not.
I am a weak, weak, man. But enough strong women and men have loaned me their courage. And I have enough shame and honor that I know I must at least try to repay the loan, over time.
To those people who have inspired me, and continue to inspire, by their unflinching, irrational, and passionate loyalty to emboldening those around them with, first, courage, then wisdom and a voice: I thank you. For you have stayed the self-destructive demons that would have robbed me of everything, including life itself, long ago. They range from close family members, to kind strangers, to friends come and gone, to lost lovers, to brilliant and compassionate colleagues. This jumble of experiences, emotions, and people form an inchoate, but passionate, philosophy and faith, a reason for being.
We who have lost our faith now prepare to rebuild it on a stronger foundation, on a recognition of what is and what can be. It is a faith in every sense of the word - irrational, based on unprovable assumptions, and often held even in the face of contrary argument or evidence. Yet it is a faith that demands of us enough open-mindedness, enough forgiveness, and enough activity, or we will fail to be worthy of the name "American".
It's the only faith I have left.
But damnit - it's mine! And I believe it's yours, too - bloody, bruised, beaten, but yet not dead.
That faith gets me through the memories of a chaotic half-decade and gives me the confidence that my judgment, my courage, and my compassion will return to what it was, and grow beyond their previous limitations.
It's what causes me to laugh, with confidence as much as exasperation, at today.
It's what gets me out of bed and makes me drive across Los Angeles to sponge a free dinner off a friend and strangers.
Future posts might explore in more concrete detail the state of education, and of scientific research, and of American democracy, and what steps can be made to improve these institutions. They will hopefully be practical, immediately applicable, and effective.
But sometimes, we need a simpler reminder of why we bother going on.
So take heart, distant friend. We must labor for "a land that never has been yet- and yet must be".
I know, these are just words. Whether they are empty or not depends on what comes from them.
Words and promises written in the bloody history of our peoples. Words and promises written in the smile of your grandson.
You loan him, and me, a bit of your courage. In turn let me loan you a bit of hope, until such time that you find enough for yourself to pass it along to others.
Words - they are a start, a promise that "for all those whose cares have been our concern, the work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dream shall never die."
Time to get back to work. Take care, friend.
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