Patriotism is not stupid.
The other day, feeling sad about America, I poured myself a dose of Aaron Copland.
Copland (1900-1990), you probably know, was an American composer, who translated yearning for American greatness into musical sweetness. His best-known pieces – Appalachian Spring, Rodeo, Lincoln Portrait, Third Symphony (which includes an ecstatic rendering of his Fanfare for the Common Man) – envision – with sentiment but not sentimentality – a large-hearted, inclusive nation, proud but not vain, powerful but not overpowering, a force for good which a beleaguered world might gulp for encouragement. This music lifts the heart as prose can’t, which, to keep true, must qualify its yeses with buts. Unqualified visionary prose sounds nuts and leaves readers cold. Rapturous music can swing us from the clouds, as if from a raptor’s claws.
It is not naïve to dream of a noble nation, of a people dedicated to aiding one another and bettering the future for their kind; of a truth-speaking, liberty-loving, fair and just America, not perfect – no nation can be that – but striving in perfection’s direction, a nation that puts its shoulder to the wheel for all, not just a rapacious few. Indeed, in this glum, grimy moment, we need to believe in some promise, as the Wise Men did, over daunting terrain, tracking that star. Critics today decry our nation’s conduct – how could they not! – it’s reprehensible – but it wasn’t always; the idealism reflected by Copland, Lincoln, our Founders may yet be reborn. Let us weep and groan, but then join in a paean to American possibility, not because it’s inevitable, but because it’s conceivable. We can be so much better than we are!
I have always been a dreamer. Large crazy visions tempt me to crazy attempts. My hopes are often ludicrously grandiose, but they help me out of the melancholy and torpor to which I’m prone. “Be realistic,” I’m told. I won’t, I refuse, I hate what’s called realism, caution, prudence, common sense. I dream of writing better than I can because, hey, haven’t humans before?
We must rescue America to survive. That is common sense. We the people made a boneheaded mistake, which threatens the survival of our species. Anyone with eyes can see bad is getting worse at a fearful rate. We must, alas, destroy or be destroyed. That means donning uniforms, sacrificing, doing all within our power – now – to forestall catastrophe. In seven months an election must be held and the votes counted. First things first.
The avoidance of extinction, while a relief, is no distinction. It is not OK for America to be just OK. We must be good again. We must debate and decide together what it means to be good. We must insist on policies and politicians in whom we can take pride. We must vanquish the slothful indifference – “It really doesn’t matter who we elect” – that got us into this mess. Democracy is neither self-propelling nor self-correcting: it requires the vigilance and involvement of its participants. “We the people” does not mean “those guys”; it means you and me.
The other day I hesitated before dragging Jane and me and Henry to the “No Kings” rally. It was cold; I had golden words to compose; no one was taking attendance; why bother? Grumpily, I overruled my inertia and off we went. So we must hound our reluctant selves to do what we ought, not just what we prefer. Phony patriotism, as Dr. Johnson growled, masks many a mischief-maker. But true patriotism, wide-eyed, energetic, unflinching, is a precondition of civilization.
Listen to some Copland if you need to stoke your fire.