The Way Fayer

I listened to a podcast episode recently that included one of my professors at the University of Arkansas, Dr. Lisa Corrigan. The podcast is called Gaslit Nation, and the host of the podcast, Sarah Kendzior, happens to be the author of They Knew: How A Culture of Conspiracy Keeps America Complacent—a book that I am currently reading. Something Dr. Corrigan talks about in the podcast that caught my attention is the geopolitical implications of the American landscape.

She claims, “One of the problems with having a polyglot society that’s full of all these different kinds of people from all these different kinds of places in this giant land mass that’s mostly rural, is that we are not thinking together—at all.”

I thought this was a wonderful point, despite its disconcerting but somehow widely neglected obviousness. If we cannot think together, how can we possibly expect to manage problems holistically? Further, how can we synthesize our perspectives and come to unified, well-informed conclusions?

Across the country, different locations tend to separate ideologically for a number of reasons. This is most recognizably a result of differences in respective, localized conditions. State-by-state, needs are (or should be) tailored to those conditions: namely, the economy, environment, and demographic of that particular location. Needless to say, distinctions between rural and urban areas also contribute to these differences in relation to population sizes, exposure to diversity (or lack thereof), and economic activity. History, no doubt, plays a part too.

Indeed, not every part of the United States shares the same history. We often forget that our country is approximately 95% the size of Europe, so its no wonder that the culture in, let’s say, Arkansas differs ever-so-slightly from the culture in, hmm, California. The land, as well as the people, from one location to another carries the spirits of different ancestors—to put it poetically.

But does this culture of division define our national identity? Currently, maybe so. Should it? Not if we can help it. Our country also carries the spirit of an American Dream that, however much it has struggled to come to fruition—and however exclusive it may have been—united our ancestors (by virtue or vice) and can unite us still, hopefully in a positive way.

The question remains, however: what can we do to overcome these conflicts of context and perspective? Can we find a broader culture to unite under, coming together despite our differences? Can we rebrand the American Dream? After all, this seems to be the only path forward if we can manage it.

Nevertheless, it may be the case that we are working against the odds. As it happens, entropy combats unity in our world—as the universe expands, things seem only to pull more and more apart over time (this is true scientifically and otherwise). Essentially, entropy means disintegration, disorder, and chaos (check out my post titled “The Entropic Revolution” for more on that). Though it may be difficult to stand against this natural force of disunity, we will certainly be held accountable for a lack of trying.

One way the American government presently attempts to compensate for our differences as a nation (albeit contentiously) is by virtue of a system—the Electoral College—which prioritizes the value of the state over the value of the individual, say, considering the voting power is significantly reduced for individuals in larger states. Now, this quickly becomes a philosophical question, especially considering that the United States is not formally a democracy, and big states (with big cities) are often ideological strongholds that would dominate a popular vote (some would say unfairly).

Meanwhile, others hold firm to the belief that the Electoral College was merely a means to uphold slavery, overriding the previously mentioned popular vote through disproportionate state representation. This stance implies that states with smaller populations—and Southern states in particular—take advantage of this system to exploit what would otherwise be a popular vote win.

Keep in mind, however, that this exploitation has only ever happened five times, though its validity is still up for debate and many consider the popular vote as synonymous with the will of the American people.

At its core, therefore, the issue of the Electoral College pertains to the appropriate balance of power between the federal government, the state governments, and, ultimately, the people; but while I’m not here to take a stance on the Electoral College directly, this does implicate the more important question at hand: how do we organize unity despite our differences? And though it may seem like an obvious question, it remains unanswered. Thus, an even more important question materializes: why?

As indicated in this tangent on the Electoral College, the American people differ philosophically. You may be wondering how exactly the Electoral College does compensate for our differences as a nation anyway. Well, the answer is nested in the previous statement—by leveling the philosophies of less populous states with the philosophies of more populous states.

But because of our geography, minority opinion in more populous states is considered majority opinion in less populous states, and vice versa.

Ironically, the very system designed to mitigate our growing pains as a nation is itself a growing pain (I say this because our nation is still relatively young, and our melting pot culture imitates a hormonal teenager trying to find their identity). In other words, the Electoral College embodies a contentious philosophy in trying to resolve others.

Once more, I am not trying to discredit the Electoral College. I only want to point out the paradox. But that’s the frustrating part of political philosophy—the answer is never simple, and certainly never as simple as it’s often made out to be. Sometimes, the very things that are supposed to bring us together only separate us more.

Other examples that serve this point include affirmative action, Medicaid (especially post-ACA), federalism, and even democracy itself. People have all sorts of opinions on these matters, and all kinds of things to say about them—that’s for sure. But common to all is that they are man-made systems, along with the rest of politics, ethics, and philosophy.

We are lost souls searching, clinging to, longing for anything that makes life less miserable, more manageable, and worth this fight against time.

We want certainty—or anything that imitates it.

So where does that leave us? It certainly doesn’t mean that we should completely disregard these systems. That would be absurd. But it does mean that we should reconsider our relationship to them and, if necessary, revise them—or, yes, in some cases, even reject them. Nevertheless, it requires collaboration to go about that in a worthwhile way.

Democracy in the United States, according to Dr. Corrigan, began with the Civil Rights Act of 1964. Prior to that, history reveals power being skewed away from the individual, which is by definition undemocratic: most simply, a democracy is a state governed by the people through majority (or popular) votes and freely elected officials. Even now, people consider the US as lacking democratically, which doesn’t seem too radical if you really think about it. Doubtless, some people in the United States have more power than others—to what extent that is avoidable lands close to nil.

That being said, our country is technically defined as a “constitutional republic.” It is “constitutional” in that we are governed by principles laid out in the Constitution of the United States of America and a “republic” because we are simultaneously governed by representatives who hold supreme power under the Constitution.

Many Americans, however, have come to value the democratic process, remaining skeptical of undemocratic constitutional republics like the People’s Republic of China and insisting that we fight for democracy. The main difference between republics and democracies is that republics do not inherently have to follow majority rule, unlike strict democracies.

Therefore, a lack of political cooperation stems from definitional misunderstandings and aversions: people either don’t understand or don’t agree on the foundation of our political system.

Meanwhile, federalism (the system that divides power between federal and state governments) creates checks and balances via the states, attempting to offset centralized power through a sharing of responsibility. Alternative positions typically cite inequality between states and political fragmentation as a problem resulting from this system.

In any case, the questions raised are philosophical ones (going into affirmative action and Medicaid would likely take more time than you signed up for, but you get my point), which makes it seem like the main issue is philosophical differences. We think different things. Except whose philosophy do we choose to follow? Do we let the philosophy prevail by person or by region? Do we let philosophy prevail based on class? Or perhaps we let the rich make our decisions (because, uh, surely their money makes them more competent)? What about political party? Religion?

While many of these seem ridiculous (and are, indeed, presented for that very reason), they aren’t entirely invalid questions. It takes time to figure out how to run the world—it’s not like we haven’t been trying for thousands of years. Such an endeavor requires extensive trial and error.

Our approaches to life and civilization must evolve organically to fit what is true, and that means morally, practically, and existentially. We have to learn from our history: both the good and the bad.

So while superficially it may seem that the main problem is what we think, the real problem seems to be closer to how we think. And how is that? Not together.

Something else mentioned by Dr. Corrigan in the Gaslit Nation podcast is in response to a question that she’s often asked from her students. Namely, “what do people outside the United States think about us?” She states that other countries often see us as indulgent, decadent, and barely literate. Ouch.

Whether or not you believe that to be true, it does get at a point we can hopefully all agree on: our country could be a lot more educated. We used to have debates. Now we don’t talk. Or we bicker. Insanely, kindness nowadays feels like rebellion.

I wonder if the reason podcasts have become so popular is because they are conversational. Somehow, well-informed people talking civilly about relevant subjects comes as a miracle to modern society and its hatred for opposing—or sometimes simply new—perspectives.

Which leads me to my main point. It is an issue of perspective that poisons our culture in the United States, though one that afflicts many nations because of its pathological quality. Human beings hate uncertainty, hate disillusionment, hate opposition.

We hate being wrong.

But what’s more, we hate change—especially as it relates to our own behaviors and beliefs. This is also known as psychological rigidity, and so often we conform to our own biases to explain away opposing perspectives and avoid cognitive dissonance (a state characterized by holding multiple contradictory beliefs at once).

And while legal solutions may offer temporary remedies to our crises of variation, it’s usually at the expense of many unfortunate voices, stifled in their attempts to make a case for themselves. Thus, lasting change requires a reconfiguration of perspective, and one that works from the bottom up through a culture that listens to its voices.

Right now, we are glued to a culture of conspiracy, conformism, and virtue signaling (as highlighted by Sarah Kendzior in her previously mentioned book They Knew). Conspiracies inform as well as validate our misgivings, providing a rebellion for us to conform to that (mostly) takes place on social media. The virtue signaling comes as we identify with the “truth” contained in the conspiracy, teaming up with its advocates and perhaps throwing in a hashtag or two online.

It should be said that conspiracy theories are not inherently bad. In fact, it takes a conspiracy theory to uncover a real conspiracy: an illicit or illegal plan orchestrated by bad actors.

Nevertheless, blindly following the lead of unknown figures, authorities, or groups surreptitiously injecting unverified claims (keep an eye out for cherry-picking) into our feeds makes us complacent through complicity. In a kind of inversion, the very act of “recognizing the conspiracy” becomes a means of keeping the real conspiracies out of sight.

In a country that takes up about one-sixth of the Western Hemisphere, our differences keep us divided. Bias keeps us isolated, misinformed, self-contained, and resentful.

Conservatives look down upon progressives with an air of austere dissatisfaction as the progressives shake their fists back with contrarian contempt, but when will they realize their need for each other? Pure conservatism kills itself slowly while pure progressivism kills itself quickly. All the same, each dies without the other. Meaningful conservation maintains what is good, beautiful, and true, while at the same time remaining flexible enough to become more good, more beautiful, and more true—progress.

Allowing a political party to dictate our views and direct our hate undermines everything about sound behavior. Besides, a problematic political party is only a caricature of the problem, not the problem itself, so attacking the party will never make it to the heart of the matter.

More than ever, we need synthesis. We need to communicate. We need to listen. We need to work through our differences—or at the very least accept them—because we could all learn a thing or two from each other.

We need to evolve, changing the way we think and educating ourselves as if truth exists, for without truth life is hardly worth living or societies worth maintaining.

Uniting under truth must be the answer, and considering we are all stuck in this complicated world together, stumbling through its dark and looking for a light, we might as well respect what other people have to say, seeing if we can find common ground through civil interaction.

There is a Spirit waiting to be found by lost societies wandering through the wilderness. People take that Spirit to mean different things, but shouldn’t we all be looking for it, following it … together? Maybe that Spirit, the Spirit of Truth, can unite our nation and also the world over.

It’s time for an American Synthesis.