The Task Before Us
On facts, values, and the duties of citizenship.
Nothing in this world is perfect, neither in nature nor in character. In this imperfect world, there is right, there is wrong, and there is a vast grey area in between. From the perspective of what is good, most of our experiences and choices fall on a spectrum.
Theologians call this worldly imperfection the fall from grace, humanity’s rebellion against God, and original sin. Everything is tainted and in need of redemption. As Bob Dylan wrote, “everything is broken.”
To quote the opening line of another song, “I’m not a perfect person.” We are all imperfect, every one of us. We accomplish great things and we make mistakes. We get things right and we get things wrong. That’s the human condition.
Because of life’s imperfections, certainty is often an illusion. We don’t always know right from wrong. The job for us ordinary mortals is to humbly seek guidance from reputable sources, like the Greek philosophers and modern ethicists, religious texts and institutions, civic leaders, psychologists and therapists, our parents and teachers, and friends we trust. Even within those groups, we should try to sort between wisdom and folly, recognizing that there often tends to be a shortage of the former and a surplus of the latter. We also should not confuse the relative with the absolute, close our minds to ideas different from our own, or stop searching for enlightened answers. And we should never expect or claim to possess perfect clarity.
But we shouldn’t confuse the absence of certainty with the absence of truth. Yale Professor Timothy Snyder, in his new book “On Freedom,” lays out five forms of freedom. One of them he calls Factuality. (The others are Sovereignty, Unpredictability, Mobility, and Solidarity.) There are objectively true facts and objectively false facts. We must not let anyone convince us otherwise. The key is not to reject this basic premise, but to do our best to distinguish the true from the false. Failure to do so can lead to bad decisions, and bad decisions can lessen our freedom. History has shown that to happen time and time again. It is happening now in many countries, and increasingly so.
To distinguish truth from falsehood, we need to employ the tools at our disposal. Those tools come in the form of questions. Are we hearing the facts from people we trust, who have good character and a track record of honest fact-telling? Are their positions and narratives internally consistent or self-contradictory? Do the facts make sense based on what we know about science, history, humanity, and the world? Are there countervailing facts that outweigh the veracity of the facts we’re being told? Who are more credible, the people telling us one set of facts or those who contradict them? Have the facts been tested and proven reliable? To what extent are they afflicted with apparent or hidden bias, and can we do a reasonable job of filtering bias out?
These are the types of questions judges and juries ask in a court of law. They have been developed over time to provide signposts in the search for truth when facts are in dispute. They work outside the courtroom too.
The questions can be applied to political choices. There is no perfect candidate; there are only degrees of rightness and wrongness in any candidate. Voters are asked to choose between two or more imperfect choices. The same sorts of questions we ask to discern what is factual in a courtroom can be asked to guide us when we vote. Is the candidate trustworthy? Do they have a reputation for good character? For honesty? Does what they’re saying make sense in light of what we know about them and the world? Are their statements logical and internally consistent? Are their opponents more or less credible than they are? Do their pronouncements about the facts hold up to probing scrutiny?
Beyond these questions of trustworthiness are questions of values. Do I support the values the candidate espouses and exemplifies? How do my religious or philosophical beliefs help me answer that question? Would the candidate’s policies, if put into action, make our country a better place for the largest number of people, or only for a chosen few? Will the candidate do more harm than good? Are there red flags with the candidate and, if so, are they enough to sway my vote? What does my conscience tell me about the decision I’m about to make?
Asking these questions and others like them, and having the courage to answer them honestly, is the job of every voter. That means not letting others make the decisions for us. It means not getting swept up in a movement or succumbing to the pressure of a political party or other group. It sometimes means understanding that a race provides its own “least worst” choice, and being open to voting for the other party’s candidate. And it means not falling prey to cynicism or to a candidate’s exploitation of our divisions as a pathway to power.
As citizens of a democratic republic, we owe each other a duty not to take our electoral choices lightly. Good citizenship means grappling with these questions in our conversations with others and in the privacy of the voting booth, understanding the consequences of electing the least fit candidate, and doing our best to make wise choices, not only for ourselves but for all Americans.
Acting with that seriousness of purpose, coupled with an examination of conscience, is what makes a democracy strong. It’s what makes a republic strong. It’s the task that lies before us.