patriotism
It’d never really occurred to me that patriotism as an idea might have any kind of intellectual pedigree, in fact I’d always bumptiously considered it too flaky (an apposite Americanism) to be worthy of philosophical consideration. Yet Carol Nicholson, in her Philosophy Now article (47, pp23-25) points out that arguments in favour of patriotism go back at least as far as Plato’s Crito.
The Crito uses two analogies, both of which strike Nicholson and myself as weak, if not fallacious. The first analogy, favoured by conservatives, is of the state as benevolent parent or master, to which we children or slaves owe a duty to honour and serve, while the second analogy is that of the contractual agreement, naturally favoured by liberals.
The weakness of the first analogy is obvious, especially to me as a foster carer trying to deal with some of the problems caused by neglectful or inappropriate parenting. Besides, child abuse is now the hottest of topics and much is made of the rights of the child. And the master-slave relationship is so respected these days that it’s more or less universally illegal.
The second analogy goes thus – ‘he who has experience of the manner in which we order justice and administer the state, and still remains, has entered into an implied contract that he will do as we command him’. This will be news to many. For starters not everyone’s free to leave the state in which she grew up; there may be financial or political constraints upon her choices. Also, a person may be critical of and hostile to some elements of the state’s justice system or health system or whatever, though she might feel that on balance there are more reasons to stay than to go. What keeps a person in a particular place in any case often has much more to do with ties of family, friendship, language, custom and familiarity of locale than with the laws and constitution of the state.
These weak analogies are, according to Nicholson, used to argue a ‘backward-looking’ defence of patriotism, that we owe our country a bucketload of devotion ‘in virtue of debts incurred in the past’. Most modern defences of patriotism, however, are ‘forward-looking’ in that they suggest that if we pragmatically choose patriotism our future will be brighter.
Nicholson takes issue with Richard Rorty’s defence of patriotism on these lines. Rorty apparently takes patriotism to be a natural, positive quality akin to self-respect, and follows Aristotle in claiming that both qualities (self-respect and patriotism) are essential, in the right quantities. We’re talking here of the Aristotelian mean. Too much patriotism would lead to zealotry, bellicosity and imperialist ambitions, while too little would result in a breakdown of social cohesion and ‘positive unifying spirit’. Ultimately it might lead to the breakdown of nationhood itself.
Without wishing to go right now into the very important question of the consequences of a great diminution of, or even an absence of patriotism in the world (almost as unlikely in the real world as an absence of religion), I will simply point out that Rorty’s formulation suffers from all the vagueness of Aristotle’s original idea of the mean between extremes. For what really is ‘appropriate’ love of country and what kinds of actions truly express that love? If your love of country entails a belief that it is better than other countries, how does this express itself in action? Can you love your country without believing it is better than other countries?
The Crito uses two analogies, both of which strike Nicholson and myself as weak, if not fallacious. The first analogy, favoured by conservatives, is of the state as benevolent parent or master, to which we children or slaves owe a duty to honour and serve, while the second analogy is that of the contractual agreement, naturally favoured by liberals.
The weakness of the first analogy is obvious, especially to me as a foster carer trying to deal with some of the problems caused by neglectful or inappropriate parenting. Besides, child abuse is now the hottest of topics and much is made of the rights of the child. And the master-slave relationship is so respected these days that it’s more or less universally illegal.
The second analogy goes thus – ‘he who has experience of the manner in which we order justice and administer the state, and still remains, has entered into an implied contract that he will do as we command him’. This will be news to many. For starters not everyone’s free to leave the state in which she grew up; there may be financial or political constraints upon her choices. Also, a person may be critical of and hostile to some elements of the state’s justice system or health system or whatever, though she might feel that on balance there are more reasons to stay than to go. What keeps a person in a particular place in any case often has much more to do with ties of family, friendship, language, custom and familiarity of locale than with the laws and constitution of the state.
These weak analogies are, according to Nicholson, used to argue a ‘backward-looking’ defence of patriotism, that we owe our country a bucketload of devotion ‘in virtue of debts incurred in the past’. Most modern defences of patriotism, however, are ‘forward-looking’ in that they suggest that if we pragmatically choose patriotism our future will be brighter.
Nicholson takes issue with Richard Rorty’s defence of patriotism on these lines. Rorty apparently takes patriotism to be a natural, positive quality akin to self-respect, and follows Aristotle in claiming that both qualities (self-respect and patriotism) are essential, in the right quantities. We’re talking here of the Aristotelian mean. Too much patriotism would lead to zealotry, bellicosity and imperialist ambitions, while too little would result in a breakdown of social cohesion and ‘positive unifying spirit’. Ultimately it might lead to the breakdown of nationhood itself.
Without wishing to go right now into the very important question of the consequences of a great diminution of, or even an absence of patriotism in the world (almost as unlikely in the real world as an absence of religion), I will simply point out that Rorty’s formulation suffers from all the vagueness of Aristotle’s original idea of the mean between extremes. For what really is ‘appropriate’ love of country and what kinds of actions truly express that love? If your love of country entails a belief that it is better than other countries, how does this express itself in action? Can you love your country without believing it is better than other countries?
posted by Stewart at 1:05 am
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