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Doing a Slow Turn

Written by David Brin

THE POISON OF CYNICISM

Lately, like a lot of other Americans, I have been trying to understand our national affliction called "Culture War."

How is it that a great nation can be at the height of its prosperity and cultural achievement—with crime rates dropping and IQ scores rising—yet wallow in an apparently bottomless spiral of deteriorating civility and political contempt? Having given the world a whole new layer of intelligence—the Internet—and countless other great, unprecedented things, we now hurl simplistic barbs at each other with playground immaturity, glowering in a foulness of bitter clichés and broken confidence.

Yes, there is violent foreign conflict and ever-worsening debt. Both readiness and resiliency aren't what they should be, in a world of rapid change. And freedom itself seems to be under storm clouds of threat. Still, aren't each of these problems partly rooted in Culture War? Far more fundamental is a declining trust in ourselves, in our traditional prowess at negotiating with each other, bargaining in good faith.

Oh, it's easy to cast blame for the acrimony in American political life, ascribing it to "the other side" . . . whichever end of the hoary left-right political axis you deem hateful. Indeed, I agree that one end of that axis has been especially noxious lately, promoting Culture War as a deliberately divisive tactic. (link: http://www.davidbrin.com/realculturewar1.html) But then, aren't we all complicit, whenever we create strawman images of every opponent, refusing to recognize subtle differences among them. Differences between the many types of liberal, or conservative? (Both ideologies claim to be all about respecting individuality!) Or when we fail to acknowledge that some opponents are sincere, perhaps even having intelligent things to say? In trying to penetrate this mystery, I've tried to view Culture War from many angles. For example, as a plague of self-stimulated addiction to self-righteous indignation. (link: http://www.davidbrin.com/addiction.html) Or as a reflex spasm by older styles of romanticism against the rebel worldview of pragmatism and science.(1) (link: http://www.davidbrin.com/tolkienarticle1.html) I have even tried to see it as a defense mechanism, by our paid professional protector caste, against a rising Age of Amateurs. (link: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000BY2PRQ/002-0125361-2995236)

And yet, time and again, what I find is that all of these other perspectives just put icing on a bitter cake. The core source of Culture War appears to be something far simpler.

CLICHÉS... AND A RESPONSE

Listen to partisans of all stripes—left, right, up, down or weird—and try throwing away whatever details of policy you may agree—or disagree—with. Get down to the emotional subtext and most of the angry rants boil down to a theme that's remarkably similar, all across the spectrum. What you are bound to hear, sooner or later, is some variation of the following venerated saying:

"A cynic is an optimist who finally snapped out of it, and realized how awful people really are."

Venerated? Heck, it's one of the great clichés of all time! Try it out and see how reflexively your close friends nod when you say those words. Almost as automatically as when you add:

"Isn't it a shame that human wisdom hasn't kept up with technology?"

Or this one—

"What a pity that our neighbors are such sheep, unable to see truth that stares them in the face. A truth that our side (sadly) has to uphold, as a brave minority, against all odds."

Oh, I admit it. I've indulged in all of these clichés myself, on occasion. Anyone who denies ever doing so is claiming not to be human! After all, who can resist the attraction—the almost druglike satisfaction—of feeling contempt-for-the-masses?

Can you name a political or social or religious movement that does not strive to make its in-group feel special? In-the-know? More in tune with "the way things really are"? More with-it than all those hapless, clueless cattle out there?

And yet, aren't citizens of a scientific enlightenment supposed to question clichés? Even . . . especially . . . those that seem suspiciously convenient? The ones that make us feel good?

In other words, the seductive notions that may have suckered us?(2)

So, let's take a contrarian look at the Contempt Reflex, for a change. Scan those three clichés again, only this time try out an answer–

"What is a cynic who snaps out of it even farther ? Enough to realize that, despite the grotesquely stupid, self-delusional and abysmally corrupt aspects of human nature . . . things are getting phenomenally better? And have been for some time?"

I mean, which is truly more amazing? That the Enlightenment is under threat from collusive cabals of conniving aristocrats, aggressive imperialists, snooty bureaucrats and extremist nutjobs? Or the fact that the same utterly predictable types, that ruled every other urban culture for 4,000 years, have been trying to accomplish this in America ever since the republic was founded? Only to be staved off repeatedly, by a new kind of civilization—one that somehow kept redesigning and renewing itself, using both cooperation and joyful entrepreneurial competition, showing an almost infinite capacity for resilience in the face of repetitious human nature?

Where is it written that we must always see the glass half-empty? Can citizens of this permanent and ongoing revolution shrug off cynicism long enough to be inspired by the part that is half-full?

TRY AN EXPERIMENT

Here is a little demonstration that I've been recommending to people for years . . . for so long that it's become known as Brin's Exercise in Reluctant Humility.

Go to a busy street corner, preferably one with a four (or twelve!) -way stop signage, where people negotiate traffic rules each second, with little glances, nods and hand-signals. Stand on the corner, take a deep breath, and start doing a slow 360 degree turn, taking in everything from shopping centers to offices to schools and housing. And, then . . . And then . . . while you are turning ever-so-slowly . . . really open your eyes.

Notice all the things that are working! The quiet, efficient flows of people, goods, information and services coming in, and waste going out—almost like the complex systems of circulation in a living body. Take in the hidden competencies—emplaced by a myriad professionals working in the background—that make all the switches turn on time and fill the restaurants with food. Notice, also, the countless little moments of volunteer/amateur decency, without which these professional efforts could never succeed.

Do not let any patch as small as one square degree pass your view without comment, or noticing something that you always took for granted! Not even a bare patch of concrete or grass, because those, too, are marvels with stories behind them.

Unleash your imagination, realizing that each system that you see uses countless interlocking machines, most of which function without reliance on fallible human supervision, each containing innumerable parts, each part having been made in some faraway place by skilled hands, then shipped and assembled and combined into coalescing structures that were designed to be taken for granted. Yes, even by klutzes who claim to hate machinery.

Oh, but don't get lost in the gimmicks. (After all, I don't want to be strawman-labeled as a horrid technophile.) So also watch people! Like that fellow over there, who could have stolen something just then . . . but didn't. That exchange of unspoken courtesies. That moment when some people patiently took turns. That moment of reflex citizenship.

All right, I admit that I'm a Californian. People may have rougher edges in other places, like New York. Still, that only makes it more important to do this exercise, in cities and towns where a smattering of grating moments tempts you to dismiss everyone and everything as rotten. Because, in fact, most things aren't! Most people aren't.

If you finish the turn having counted less than a thousand miracles, start over! All you have proved with your low score is that you are—in effect—quite blind.

THE DEEPER ROOTS OF CONFIDENCE

Does all of this seeing-the-glass-half-full make me a pollyanna? People accuse me of being a flaming optimist, because I have a naively positive view of human nature.

How absurd!

No, friend. I am a flaming optimist because I understand just how wretched human nature really is! I am well-qualified to know this, partly as a student of all sciences, as a professional