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So I started to wonder: what if I lived in Canada or Norway, some other country whose policies (or at least, those policies of which I hear) seem to more closely reflect my values? Would I be patriotic then? Still, the answer came back: no. Good politics is something to be pleased about - and proud, to a certain extent - but that's far from the be all, end all of what makes a nation good. Could I be proud of culture? (I asked myself, staring at the little Aussie flag emblem waiting patiently on my monitor.) The idea smacks of imperialism; certainly, I could be content with my cultural upbringing, but proud? What about our social values, then? Or religion? History? Cricket?
No matter which angle I viewed it from, the answer stayed the same. All of these are things I can enjoy, appreciate and recognise for the impact they've had on my circumstances and quality of life, but none of them are perfect. Nor, in fact, will they ever be perfect; because perfection is the antithesis of the human state. We strive for it, not because it is attainable, but because the striving makes us better than complacent acceptance of our limitations ever could. Being 'proud' of my country - being a patriot - feels like showing pride in a house half-built. The building might never be finished, but if I'm looking for inspiration, it's not the physical result I should be turning to, but the effort which saw it take form. Instead of being proud of Australia's institutions - be they political, social, educational, cultural or economic - I'm proud of those people who continually seek to improve them. Some might call that a kind of patriotism: after all, a nation is, at its most basic level, people. But I still dissent on one key issue: I do not have to be proud of all Australians.
Back in high school, our Christian Studies teacher, Reverend Ware, told us this: If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything. I accepted it at the time, but have since come to question the logic; because by standing for something foolish, problematic, flawed, violent, bigoted or oppressive merely for the sake of it, I would contend that one has, in fact, fallen for anything. Grand, sweeping ideals like patriotism and liberalism; systems of faith like Christianity and Islam; even political parties and their varying agendas are not things to stand for: they are complex systems which represent a host of other ideals, and not a stance themselves. We believe in them for various reasons, but that conviction is not synonymous with standing for their component ideals in isolation. We forget that these systems impose a hierarchy of importance on the ideals they represent; that they can and will compromise in accordance with that hierarchy; and that in addition to supporting some ideals, they can also infer a disbelief or an automatic acceptance of others. In a sense, they are intellectual middle-men, routing simple convictions through more complex mechanisms while simultaneously providing our beliefs - and disbeliefs - in a single (often malleable) package.
Which begs the question: what do I stand for? Freedom of speech; freedom from and of religion; equality irrespective of age, gender, sexual orientation, race, culture or religion; the separation of church and state; universal human rights; universal human responsibilities; and the written word. These are ideals represented by various belief systems in different ratios of significance and with different hierarchical roles: but ultimately, even though they are largely present in Australia, they have nothing to do with patriotism. Because patriotism isn't conditional upon any greater ideal than love of one's country, no matter how flawed that country might be or how undeserving it is of love. Some might cease to be patriots as their nation changes, but patriotism itself remains the same. Patriotism, in short, finds reasons for national pride, or, where none legitimately exist, creates their illusion; it is contingent neither upon such reasons being originally extant nor upon their maintenance and development.
To return to the housing metaphor, if people are the builders, then these systems and ideologies are their tools. And this, ultimately, is why I'm not a patriot: just as I only feel pride for some of the people, so too do I only approve the use of certain tools. I still live in the house; I'm grateful for the roof over my head and the services, opportunities and relief it provides - but I am not proud. Of necessity, I still have to deal with the realities of the world: political pragmatism dictates that I vote, even though there is no one party who solely and exclusively represents my views; and where I come across opponents, my own convictions mean that I can't simply lobby to have them silenced. These systems are not an end in and of themselves, but a means to achieve it.
Too often, I think, we forget to make this distinction; and we forget that admitting our flaws can lead to strength. Science at its best is a process of self-correction: having the courage to admit that previous ideas were wrong, and to fix them accordingly. Many who are sceptical of science see this lack of absolutism as an insurmountable weakness, believing that if the fundaments of the system can be laid open to debate, then the whole must be worthless. But I would argue the opposite: as soon as we start believing in our own invincibility - that the house needs no further improvements - we are denying our humanity; because we, as people, will never be perfect. History knows that pride comes before the fall, and yet there is a tendency to convince ourselves that if it is not really pride if our boasts - if our superiority - is real.
As long as we live in the house, the duty of making it better falls to us. But if a day comes when we, as a society, start to perceive no problems - if we convince ourselves that we have surpassed the need for growth - then that is the day I will start to glance at the global property market.
- Philippa Meadows (0 comments)