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Our Dignity as Citizens
Ed Schwartz, President
Institute for the Study of Civic Values
July, 1994
A. Self-Interest: Wrongly Understood
One of the propositions that we are supposed to accept at face
value in America is that people operate on the basis of self-
interest. No matter what we care to consider, it is self-interest
that prevails.
It is also a specific formulation of self-interest that we are
expected to accept.
Behind every decision that we make lies some tangible, usually
material, reward that we hope to gain from it.
Between our own welfare and the welfare of others, we choose our
own.
We choose where to work and live on the basis of what offers the
highest level of private gratification.
We invariably vote for the candidate who will benefit us
personally, even at the expense of the country.
This is self-interest, popularly understood. Those who
characterize self-interest in this way insist that any other
approach to human nature is naive.
The problem is a great many people don't behave in accordance with
these specifications.
How do we explain the following?
Young men and now women enlist in greatest numbers in the armed
forces during wartime at precisely the moment when they are at
most serious risk.
Thousands of law school graduates since the 1960's have chosen
public interest law over lucrative jobs in major firms.
Corporations are discovering that they have to encourage the
development of teamwork among their employees and even reward
community service if they hope to hold onto some of their best
people.
Voters in large numbers support candidates whose platforms promise
spending cuts and tax increases that hurt them directly.
None of these examples fit the concept of "self-interest" as we
know it, yet each of us can point to individuals who have made
decisions like these in their lives--ourselves included.
We have a tough-minded theory of self-interest all right,
just not one that corresponds to the facts.
This cynical conception of self-interest wouldn't matter, were it
not that we take it so seriously. Whenever we do want to operate
on the basis of altruism or idealism, there is always someone
around to scold us for acting against our own interests.
We may believe that serving the country or living in accordance
with the Golden Rule is the only proper ethical foundation for a
decent life, only to be told by friends and co-workers that we
should never put other peoples' welfare ahead of our own. We might
want to pursue careers that involve helping people, only to be
warned by our own families that we should make money first and
indulge our philanthropic instincts in our spare time. In recent
years, we have been bombarded by books with titles like Looking
Out for Number One, by Robert J. Ringer, or Honoring the Self, by
Nathaniel Braden, suggesting that it is not merely wrong to act
against our private self-interest, there is something wrong with
us if we do. We are transgressing what it means to be a human
being.
This privatized notion of self-interest also undermines efforts
to encourage cooperation at our workplaces and in our communities.
How can we be expected to work and live together, if each of us is
supposed to advance our own interests at the expense of everybody
else? Even when people do manage to cooperate, we have no way of
understanding why. Without an adequate explanation of how it does
happen, corporate managers and community organizers have no way
of knowing how to make it happen.
Our self serving notion of self-interest, finally, wreaks havoc on
the ability of public leaders and politicians to win support for
programs that benefit the country, but demand sacrifice from
individuals. In 1992, 57% of the American electorate voted for one
of two candidates who promised "change"--Bill Clinton and Ross
Perot. Most obviously, the results reflected dissatisfaction with
George Bush's lack of leadership. A sluggish economic recovery
accompanied by massive layoffs on the part of some of the nation's
largest corporations made the Bush administration look more and
more like Herbert Hoover's.
Yet a fundamental shift in civic values also occurred in 1992. For
the first time since the 1960's, a strong majority of the American
people supported candidates who were insisting that each of us had
to do more to help the country. Clinton and Perot disagreed over
the relative distribution of the burden but they were clear that
hard times demanded difficult choices in the years ahead. More
than that, each argued that we ought to be proud to make
sacrifices for the good of the country, both now and in the
future. Even though Clinton himself did not receive an outright
majority, the combined vote that Clinton and Perot received
represented a strong endorsement of this basic political message.
Since taking office, President Clinton has made several attempts
to advance the ethic of obligation and sacrifice that both he and
Perot espoused as candidates. Various polls show that in general
terms the American public is prepared to respond. Yet when the
budget of 1993 finally passed, each proposal that threatened to
impose a specific kind of sacrifice--an energy tax, cuts in
particular entitlements, among others--crumbled in the face of
opposition from the private interests that opposed them. Polls
still show that a sizeable portion of the American people would
accept personal sacrifice if they could be persuaded that the long
term interests of the country would be served by it. Here again,
however, if elected officials in Washington have no notion of
self-interest to account for this attitude, how can they take it
seriously?
Whether we are wrestling with our own our personal values, or
trying to establish decent relationships on the job and in our
communities, or struggling to determine the best course of action
for the country as a whole, we are guided by a theory of self-
interest which offers no support for accepting the claims of the
general welfare, the common good, over fulfilling our own private
desires. Then we wonder why America itself seems to be coming
apart.
B. Dignity as Self-Interest
The conventional wisdom surrounding self-interest has proven quite
unsatisfactory. If Americans were really as isolated and
acquisitive as we are expected to be, one wonders how we have
managed to hold together at all. Yet we do, in all our
cantankerous diversity as a people. A new way to think about
self-interest is in order.
I would suggest that a more compelling and universal conception of
self-interest than "me first and me alone" is wrapped up in one
word--"dignity."
The basic self-interest of all human beings is dignity--our sense
of worth in the overall scheme of things. Some of us may want to
make lots of money. Others might spend their entire lives in a
quest for power. Still others may be devoted to helping people,
or serving the country, or fulfilling the will of God. We pursue
different goals, in many different ways. Yet whatever we pursue,
each of needs to feel that we have worth, that we matter to
something or someone, that our lives have significance. This is
the essence of human dignity. It is not what we now call "self-
esteem"--- how we feel about ourselves--although personal dignity
lies at the heart of self-esteem. Our sense of dignity, rather,
is the value that we place upon ourselves as individuals, as
contributors, and as participants in the larger society. It is
the value that we place on our principles, even our presence, as
we make our way through the world..
While the notion that dignity constitutes our basic self-interest
may seem novel at first, it helps explain how we do use the term.
The phrase, "human dignity" is a good example. It says that human
life is special, even sacred. Each of us has value, whoever we
are, whatever we do. It is crucial that we live in dignity, and
that we die with dignity, surrounded by those who recognize what
our life has meant. In Viktor E. Frankl's chilling portrait of
Auschwitz, he notes that "under the influence of a world which no
longer recognized the value of human life and human dignity...if
the man in the concentration camp did not struggle against this in
a last effort to save his self-respect, he lost the feeling of
being an individual, a being with a mind, with inner freedom and
personal value." Here, dignity defines not merely what we want,
but who we are-- the fundamental pride that we feel in ourselves
as individual men and women.
It is dignity that we feel when we take pride in the people and
things that are important to us. As soon as a young child can ask
"Who am I?" and "What am I?", the search for dignity begins. To
be sure, a strong part of the process involves coming to grips
with what makes each of us special, distinct, unique. Yet equally
important is determining where we belong. We learn quickly to
define ourselves in accordance with the values of those
responsible for us. Love within the family extends, initially at
least, to loyalty to the traditions which the family takes
seriously. My own parents were not especially observant as Jews,
but they insisted on my getting a Jewish education so that I would
always understand "who I was." Being part of the Schwartz family,
being Jewish, being an American--these were all identities that I
inherited at birth, sources of pride that would provide raw
material for the particular identity that I would cultivate as an
individual later on.. Whatever sense of worth they offered to my
parents was now mine as well, a foundation for dignity upon which
I could build.
Our dignity shapes how we expect to be treated by others. We want
employers to appreciate our work. In choosing where to live, we
look for communities where people will accept us for who we are.
We demand respect from society as a whole A major organization
created by the homeless in the City of Philadelphia calls itself,
"The Committee for Dignity and Fairness to the Homeless." A group
representing Gay Catholics also calls itself "Dignity."
Nationally, the American Council of Federal, State, and Municipal
Workers (AFSCME) once produced a "Dignity" button to express what
the union sought for workers in government jobs. There are even
"dignity" clauses in various labor contracts around the country,
just in case employers lose sight of the fundamental principle
that the unions are trying to uphold. Indeed, whenever
dispossessed groups start demanding that they be treated with "a
little respect from you," in the words of the Aretha Franklin
song, the word "dignity" soon emerges to describe what they are
seeking.
It is dignity that we feel, finally, when either we or someone or
something with which we identify makes a difference in the larger
society. Obviously, we take pride in our own accomplishments. Yet
we can feel almost as proud when our employer does well, or when a
local team wins the Superbowl, or when the country excels in a
particular field. Indeed, the vicarious thrill we get from the
success of others with whom we identify lends powerful testimony
to the way in which dignity shapes our self-interest. Once we
invest our own sense of worth in someone or something else, we
resonate with its triumphs and trials as if they were our
own.
Pride, respect, achievement--these are the forms which dignity
takes in our daily lives. It defines who we are, what we expect
from others, and the vision of progress that we associate with
society as a whole. Together, they constitute the fundamental
interest of the self.
C. Demonic Strategies for Dignity
The search for dignity is universal. It occurs everywhere and at
every point in history. However we organize ourselves or permit
others to organize society for us, a specific strategy for
dignity is always involved. Indeed, even systems that we find
demonic manage to survive because they have found ways to respond
to the need for dignity.
Take religious cults, such those in Texas or Guyana that brought
about the mass deaths, even suicides, of their followers. How
could people possibly have allowed themselves to be manipulated,
mesmerized, and ultimately murdered in this way? The answer is
that David Koresh and Jim Jones before him each offered their
followers an alluring path to dignity. They promised access to
the Kingdom of God, the highest power in the universe which these
lost souls could possibly imagine. They said that if we obeyed
God's will as interpreted by them, God would grant them new honor
and respects and there would be just rewards in the afterlife. In
this topsy-turvey strategy for dignity, the greater the submission
to God--or to His representatives in the cult--the greater the
pride in having fulfilled His commandments. For those who had
found no other source of meaning, the cult provided these answers.
Ultimately, members came to believe that without the cult, there
was no dignity and hence no way to survive. Without the cult, the
only route to dignity was death.
Or consider an equally troubling-though less horrifying, group--
teenage gangs. There have been various studies of gangs over the
years. They all make the same point: however dangerous or
destructive, gangs offer their members dignity. Inner city kids
are worth nothing to this society and they know it. Middle-class
America has turned its back on inner city youngsters,
shortchanging their schools and supporting public and private
disinvestment from their neighborhoods. Gangs, on the other
hand, give them tangible power in their own world and attention,
even glorification in the media. Gangs bring respect: Kids get to
control something of significance--their "turf"--and to contribute
to its defense. They belong somewhere, and they can gain support
from one another. As the influence of the gang grows, its
accomplishments reinforce the pride of its members. Dignity, like
power, abhors a vacuum, and the gangs are there to fill it.
The third example I offer is odious, but telling for this very
reason--Nazi Germany. How could Adolf Hitler have transformed a
broken, dispirited nation into a regime that ended up bringing
mass destruction to much of the world? The answer is that Hitler
contrived a diabolical strategy for dignity, one so invidious
that it serves to demonstrate how far people are prepared to go to
obtain it. He exhorted Germans to take pride not merely in the
nation, but in themselves as a race, a superrace, destined to
triumph over other races throughout the world.. To serve the
"fatherland" was to share in its victories-- to feel the "triumph"
of bending others to their collective will. The new respect that
Germany would earn as nation would redound to each German as well.
As long as Germany's economy revived and its war effort succeeded,
the German people were proud to be part of it. Only a devastating
defeat turned this pride into shame later on.
In each case, an organized group finds ways to recruit and
reshape people by offering them a source of dignity that is
otherwise missing in their lives. They can take pride in being
part of the collective, if they can find no source of pride in
themselves. They gain respect from those who participate in it,
and share in its accomplishments. The human will hungers for
dignity, and in its absence, surrenders to anyone or anything that
can provide it.
D. The Individualist Strategy for Dignity
If dignity is our basic self-interest, however, then how we are we
to characterize what we call "self-interest" today? It is, I
submit, a specific strategy for dignity--one that grows out of
that distinct American philosophy known as Individualism. Over the
course of this century, a sizeable portion of the country has
come to believe that our dignity depends on being able to say, "I
did it all by myself." Even apostles of Individualism who admit
that this is not a universal expression of self-interest argue
that it is the only conception of self-interest appropriate to the
United States, given our commitment to individual freedom.
It is individualism that impels us to take pride in being able to
function on our own, without help or support from other people.
Depending on one another is, arguably, the human condition, but
dependence in America today is viewed as among our most serious
character defects. The quest for autonomy cuts across the
ideological spectrum, uniting middle-managers who long to start
their own businesses with Yuppies who are creating the first
population upsurge in rural America in years with men and women
who are declaring their independence from that oppressive
instrument of mutual dependence called the family. "Mother,
please..I can do it myself!" a young woman proclaims indignantly
in a popular ad. She is speaking for individualists throughout
the country.
It is individualism that says that institutions should give
greatest respect to those who demonstrate an ability to function
autonomously. Cooperative learning has always been viewed a
radical depature for our schools, given our emphasis on grading
individual performance. "Just do your job and don't worry about
anybody else..." has been a standard response to employee
complaints for most of the century. The attitude extends to people
who have lost support from institutions as well. We may express
deep regret for people who are thrown out of work as a result of
the failure of their companies, but we still expect them find new
jobs largely on their own. More and more, we are demanding that
welfare recipients--no matter how destitute or desolated-- figure
out how to better themselves, even if their low level of
education makes it impossible for most of them to compete in
today's labor market. To be sure, people who show initiative
are worthy of respect, but so are those who need help and
support. . Individualism recognizes only the first group, not the
second.
It is individualism, finally, that says that the primary mission
of American society as a whjole should be to create new space for
people to operate autonomously. "Of the individual, by the
individual, for the individual" becomes the new watchwords of
democracy.
Consider the vision of the future unveiled for us by John Naisbitt
and Patricia Aburdene, in the final chapter of Megatrends 2000 ,
entitled, appropriately, "The Triumph of the Individual." "The
first principle of the New Age movement," they proclaim, "is the
doctrine of individual responsibility...individual responsibility
stresses the present; each individual is responsible for
everything he or she does." This form of individualism is not an
"every man for himself" type of individualism, since "we all are
responsible for preserving the environment, preventing nuclear
warfare, eliminating poverty." Yet in addressing these problems it
is "individual energy" that matters. "When people satisfy
genuine achievement needs--in art, business, or science--society
gains."
What excites Naisbette and Aburdene most about "New Age
Individualism," however, is the possibility of "global
entrepreneurship." A couple in Telluride, Colorado--where they
live--is running an entire publishing company, Western Eye Press,
with nothing more than a Macintosh computer. Soon the rest of us
will be connecting pcs globally, creating "powerful networks of
individuals." In fact, "within a few years people, no matter where
they are, will be able to call anyone with a portable phone
anywhere in the world--directly--and without knowing where they
are (thankfully we shall be able to shut these things off.)"
This is the future: each of us on our own little mountaintop,
armed with computers and portable phones, talking with people
whom we neither see nor know in some unspecified location about
how to meet our private needs. And, when the conversation gets
sticky or difficult, "we shall be able to shut these things off."
However "new" it may look, Naisbette and Aburdene are merely
expressing what Individualism has always promised in the United
States--namely, that through technology, each of us, by ourselves,
can meet our needs totally on our own. Nor do we have to take
additional steps to help others, since technology ultimately will
extend these opportunities to everyone. A Macintosh and modem on
every desk--this is the Individualist's vision of progress, one
that permits each of us to run our own little world, without ever
having to contend with those who might impinge on it. The
electronic new frontier beckons us to take our own private ride in
space that will be all our own.
Pride in self-sufficiency; respect for self-reliance; liberty
and autonomy for all--these are the main ingredients of the
Individualist strategy for dignity--a system of values so
pervasive that many of us believe that it simply is self-interest,
not just a specific form that it takes.
E. Beyond Individualism
The struggle over Individualism has been a critical dimension of
the broader battle over values and politics that has dominated
America for at least the past twenty-five years. Since the dawn
of the Reagan era, a rash of books have appeared extolling the
"self," spearheaded by Robert J. Ringer's Looking Out for Number
One. Ayn Rand's novels have enjoyed a resurgence in popularity as
well, attesting to the appeal of her basic argument that,.
"Independence is the only gauge of human virtue and value"--as she
puts it in The Fountainhead. "What a man is and makes of himself;
not what he has or hasn't done for others. There is no substitute
for personal dignity."
Nathaniel Braden, a disciple of Rand's, even goes so far as to
argue in Honoring the Self that the Crucifixion in Christianity,
whereby the "highest, noblest, most perfect man was willing to
sacrifice himself and die in agony for the sake of persons who are
low, ignoble, sinful, evil," is, "as monstrous an injustice,
as profound a perversion of morality as the human mind can
conceive." This is merely an extreme version of a gospel that
hard-strapped middle class Americans have been all too ready to
hear--namely, that it's ok to stick up for yourself, to get as
much as you can, and to turn your backs on other people who ought
to be helping themselves.
To be sure, a number of books have emerged to combat this sort of
thinking as well. Christopher Lasch's Culture of Narcissism and
Robert Bellah's Habits of the Heart each takes individualism to
task for rationalizing greed and social irresponsibility. More
recently, Amitai Etzioni, a former domestic policy advisor in the
Carter administration, joined the fray with The Spirit of
Community, explicating a "Communitarian Manifesto," that calls
upon Americans to recognize our duties to each other as well as
our rights.
What the critics of Individualism have lacked is a clear
explanation of the personal benefits that people derive from
helping others and serving the country. Individualists appeal
directly to self-interest, rather than laying out an agenda of
political goals in the hope that we will reshape our own values
accordingly. Once we agree that self-sufficiency and autonomy are
the only appropriate measures of human dignity, then demands for
compassion or sacrifice fall on deaf ears.
If Ayn Rand is wrong about the individual, however, what is it
right? How do we describe what we gain ourselves from promoting
the public good? Exhorting us all to reach for "the good
society" will mean little to those who think that the good society
should begin and end at their doorsteps. What's in it for us?
F. Civic Virtue and Our Dignity as Citizens
A fundamentally different vision guided the people who established
America and constructed its institutions over two centuries ago.
They were, indeed, confident that with proper support and
protection, men and women could shape their own destinies as free
citizens of the nation. Progress in all spheres of existence would
flow from the unfettered exercise of human intellect, as reason
unravelled the mysteries that previous generations had failed to
solve. As we developed ourselves, we would challenge one another.
In the process, humanity as a whole would prosper.
The Declaration of Independence tells us that all "men" are
created equal, with "inalienable rights" to "life, liberty, and
the pursuit of happiness." Government is "instituted" to secure
these rights and when it doesn't, we should overthrow it. The
Bill of Rights says that we can speak, we can write, we can
meet. We can pray to a God, or deny the existence of a God. The
police can't break into our homes without a warrant. We are to be
tried by a jury of our peers, and we can't be forced to testify
against ourselves. The government can't torture us. The
Constitution itself guarantees that we will vote for the people
who govern us. We still tingle when we read all of this, because
it's not just about the government, it's about us--about who we
are and what is provided for us. Whatever our personal goals
might be, America protects our right to pursue them. This is the
basic foundation upon which dignity rests in the United States.
There is little basis, however, for the view that has gained
currency in recent years that America's founders saw individual
liberty as the means by which we would liberate ourselves from
one another. They hoped to achieve precisely the opposite. They
were determined to prove that we would unite even without a
despotic ruler telling us what to do. Civic virtue would redeem
personal freedom . We could do what we wanted, but we would take
pride in doing what was right. This was the precise conception of
dignity which they hoped would take hold in America--a conception
of our dignity as citizens that would inspire individuals,
institutions, and the government to "promote the general welfare"
for generations to come.
Our dignity as citizens would push us to pursue civic virtue in
our personal lives. Benjamin Franklin devoted a whole section of
his Autobiography to a discussion of a personal regimen to
cultivate various "virtues"--including temperance, silence, order,
resolution, frugality, industry, sincerity, justice, moderation,
cleanliness, tranquillity, chastity, and humility, concluding that
"the most acceptable service to God is doing good to man."
Thomas Jefferson specifically rejected "self-love, or egoism" as a
foundation for morality. "Self-love," he insisted, "is the sole
antagonist of virtue, binding us constantly by our propensities to
self-gratification in violation of our moral duties to others."
Whether the source of authority was God or nature, it was civic
virtue that would ultimately foster human dignity.
Institutions were expected to reinforce civic virtue as well.
Alexis De Toqueville noted in Democracy in America that it was
not merely the Constitution and the laws, but "customs,"
nurtured through the family, the church, and the community that
had rendered the United States, "the only one of the American
nations that is able to support a democratic government."
Education was to be critical to this process as well. "It is
substantially true," George Washington advised in his Farewell
address in 1796, "that virtue or morality is a necessary spring
of popular government. Promote, then, as an object of primary
importance, institutions for the general diffusion of knowledge."
"Education, " Thomas Jefferson reiterated many years later,
"engrafts a new man on the native stock, and improves what in his
nature was vicious and pervious into qualities of virtue and
social worth." For this reason, we needed schools that would help
a young person "understand his duties to his neighbors and
country," "know his rights," and, "In general, observe with
intelligence and faithfulness all the social relations under which
he shall be placed."
Civic virtue, finally, had to be respected by the leaders of the
country. "It is too early for politicians to presume on our
forgetting," James Madison warned in The Federalist Papers, "that
the public good, the real welfare of the great body of the people,
is the supreme object to be pursued; and that no form of
government whatever has any other value than as it may be fitted
for the attainment of this object." Beyond the various checks
and balances incorporated into the new government, considerations
of dignity would also prompt elected officials to do the right
thing. "There is in every breast," he noted, "a sensibility to
marks of honor, of favor, of esteem, and of confidence, which,
apart from all considerations of interest, is some pledge for
grateful and benevolent returns." This "sensibility" would not
"fail to produce a temporary affection at least to their
constituents," coupled with fear of encountering the "universal
and extreme indignation" that violations of the public trust most
certainly would arouse.
Thus, for America's founders, it was not rugged individualism,
but civic virtue--our dignity as citizens--that would ennoble
us as human beings. By the time Alexis de Tocqueville came to
America in 1831, he would note that we lived by the principle
of, "self-interest, rightly understood," whereby, we "show how
an enlightened regard for themselves constantly prompts them to
assist one another and inclines them willingly to sacrifice a
portion of their time and property to the welfare of the state."
This was precisely the conception of self-interest that the
framers had hoped to bequeath to the country as a whole.
G. Civic Idealism and Personal Dignity
Today, apostles of individualism insist that the pursuit of civic
virtue--what I would call, "civic idealism"-- is simply not in
our self-interest. It is too idealistic. It requires a higher
level of commitment to one another than is possible in a society
as diverse as ours. Better to develop ways for individuals to meet
their needs on their own than to find common ground among people
so different in background and orientation.
It is naive, however, to expect that America can find private
enclaves for everyone who seeks to avoid the inescapable tensions
of a diverse society. Between 1960 and 1980, for example,
millions of white Americans fled en masse from cities to the
suburbs simply to get away from Black Americans. Now that some
African-Americans are themselves moving to the suburbs, will
these people move again? How far are they prepared to go? There
simply aren't enough mountainside retreats in Telluride, Colorado
for everyone.
Besides, Americans are making it clear that the condition of our
entire society is troubling them, not just the problems that we
are experiencing personally. Whether we are talking about a
deterioration of fundamental values, or a loss of productivity,
or the breakdown of community, or the corruption of politics,
the complaint is the same--we need to spend less time indulging
ourselves; and more time supporting one another. In increasing
numbers, people are struggling to find ways to make America work
again.
Indeed, only our failure to recognize the self-interest to
which civic idealism corresponds prevents many of us from
accepting it as a legitimate and practical ethic for America..
Nor is this the first time.
At the outset of the 1970's, I wrote a little book called Will the
Revolution Succeed? Rebirth of the Radical Democrat, aimed at
defining the political tradition that had given rise to the
student movement of the 1960's in which I had been a strong
participant. Our major goals then were to hold government
accountable to principles like equality and justice embodied in
America's founding; to achieve Civil Rights and economic
opportunity for minorities and the poor; to build communities in
which we would work together for a common good; and to enable
ordinary citizens to control the decisions that affected their
lives.
Neither conservatism nor liberalism nor Marxism as we understood
them addressed any of these concerns. All three rejected values as
a framework for politics, dismissed local communities as being
irrelevant to modern society, and debunked participatory democracy
as being an untenable way for a country of over 200 million
people to make political decisions.
To establish the origins of our beliefs, I had to return to John
Winthrop's vision of a cooperative commonwealth in the
Massachusetts Bay colony in the 17th century, articulated in the
"Model of Christian Charity"; to Anti-Federalists who fought to
preserve state and local governments against anti-democratic
features of the federal constitution; to De Tocqueville's
Democracy in America, with its insights into the role of customs
in reinforcing democratic values; and to the Populist Movement of
the 1890's, which fought to hold industrial America accountable to
the egalitarian principles that they, too, attributed to
our founding. .
This was the political tradition to which our own values most
closely corresponded-- an American democratic tradition whose
concern for civic values, local communities, and participatory
democracy was missing from the liberal and socialist ideologies
that had emerged in response to 18th and 19th century
industrialism.
Unfortunately, many of the pundits and social scientists who
were most critical of our politics were also telling us that the
revolution in values that we were seeking, however noble, was
bound to die, since there was no underlying self-interest which
would persuade middle-class America to go along with it.
"Ordinary" citizens, so-called--people who were trying to make a
living and raise families and gain a few simple pleasures along
the way--just would not buy into a movement built around abstract
civic ideals.
This was a challenge of considerable importance. What was the
self-interest to which civic idealism responded? If people were
out only for themselves, on what basis could we work together?
Why would anyone participate in politics without hope of private
benefit in return? I had grown up in one of the country's
wealthiest communities--Scarsdale, New York. I had attended one of
its best colleges--Oberlin College, in Ohio. At 24, I had been
elected National President of the National Student Association,
America's national union of students at the time. Yet now I
intended to embark on a career pursuing social change that would
offer few of the material rewards that a person of my background
had a right to expect. What accounted for me?
I was convinced even then that that there was a reasonable answer
to this question. We were hardly the first idealists who fought
for political change. There were millions of people in America
who were working with and for one another without an obvious
private interest at stake in the process. Wasn't this country
supposed to be created by patriots who were willing to risk "their
lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor" for the principles
that our generation had been defending? These were facts. There
had to be a theory to explain them.
It was then that I reached the conclusion that has guided my work
ever since: our basic self-interest is dignity, and it is our
dignity as citizens that shapes our sense of worth in society,
just as the love and support that we expect from our families
shapes the self-esteem that we bring to bear on the personal
relationships that matter to us. Whenever we fight to hold the
country accountable to ideals and principles from which we
derive no private benefit, it is our dignity as citizens that
motivates what we are doing. Indeed, even those who do need to
improve their standard of living--better jobs, affordable housing,
quality education-- will only seek to remedy these problems
through political action when they feel that the country's
failure to respect their dignity as citizens has brought them
about.
My experience in working with social movements in Philadelphia and
around the country over the past two decades has only strengthened
this conviction. Group after group has arisen to assert its claims
to justice--African-Americans, Hispanics, women, gay people,
people with disabilities, Asian-Americans--the list is long. All
have fought to improve their standard of living. Yet the basic
demand has been for dignity--our dignity as citizens, given the
civic ideals in which we all are supposed to believe.
Civic idealism is now spreading throughout the United States
again. People everywhere are searching for ways to "make the
country work"--not just for them, but for everyone. Twenty-five
years ago it was revolutionary to insist that private institutions
like universities and corporations work to promote the public
good. It is commonplace today. At the same time, with almost one
voice, Americans are demanding that politicians tell us the
truth about what the country requires, even if the truth is
painful to hear. We grow increasingly indignant when we think
that our best values are under attack, but our elected
representatives seem incapable of defending them.
It is time, therefore, to recognize the self-interest to which
this civic idealism corresponds--our dignity as citizens. Our
dignity as citizens is the sense of personal worth that we
derive from contributing to society as a whole. At the heart of
this self-interest is a deep commitment to the principles of
freedom, equality, and democracy that help us define what it
means to be a citizen in America. Our commitment to these values,
in turn, prompts us to hold the institutions of the country
accountable to them--schools, workplaces, neighborhoods and
communities, along with government itself. Indeed, our dignity
as citizens impels us to demand their fulfillment throughout
America.
Millions of us now admit that our obsession with Individualism
has gone far enough, that it is tearing us apart. Manifestos
exhorting us to unite behind a new vision of the common good are
appearing everywhere, even without a theory of self-interest to
account for them.
The self-interest is dignity--our dignity as citizens in a free
society. It is time that we recognize what our founders tried to
tell us--that only by strengthening our dignity as citizens,
can we achieve our full potential as a people. .
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