As the first presidential "debate" approached last Thursday, I was annoyed at myself for anticipating it as though it were a matter of real as opposed to contrived significance. Then I was annoyed at the avidity with which I watched it. Most annoying of all, of course, is the invisible coercion that now forces me to write about it.
My last class ends on Thursday afternoons at 3:30, and the usual pleasure of this punctuation in my work week was augmented by the fact that the English Department's annual "beginning of the year" party was scheduled for 4:30 at Prospect House. In the profusion and elegance of the comestibles our incoming chair raised the level of sumptuary ambition to an altogether new plateau. "It snewed of mete and drynke," as Chaucer says of the Franklin's dinner parties. Much of the buzz was about the "debate," then only a few hours off, and prominently centered on a coffee table was a large stack of photocopied emails from Terry McAuliffe, chairman of the Democratic National Committee. Mr. McAuliffe was apparently kept from our party by a pressing engagement, but he wanted us to know that John Kerry would win the "debate" and that we should, the moment he did so, convey that news to various talk shows and editorial offices for which he thoughtfully provided phone numbers and email addresses. It of course achieves an economy of scale if the operatives who tell the politicians what to say can at the same time tell us what we are to think about what they say.
This didn't offend me. There is no wall of separation between quiche and state, at least in my department; and Mr. McAuliffe's instructions had a double utility. In the first place the party, though swimming in food, was a little short on napkins. Then again I'm not sure that without clear instructions I could have designated the "winner" of a "debate" that was not a debate.
Our lazy democracy gets pretty much what it deserves. If we are content with a contest between gingerly sparring millionaires from the "Skull and Bones" Club, that is what we will get. If we are content to call coordinate press conferences political "debate," that is what we will get. As the existential stakes grow ever higher, our national attention deficit disorder becomes ever more acute. A whole 90 minutes on the state of the world makes us restive. Surely, as one of the candidates frequently asserts, America can do better. Surely our increasingly well-educated citizenry ought to insist that we do better.
Much of my infantile reading came from my grandfather's tiny library, which then seemed to me vast. His books included a broken set of something called "Great Debates in American History" by a certain "Marion Mills Miller (Princeton)." The title more than redeemed with its accuracy whatever it lacked in sex appeal. It was full of political debates that were, well, really great.
One small moment that sticks with me still concerned the Wilmot Proviso of 1847, designed to check the spread of slavery to any territories gained from the Mexican War. John C. Calhoun of South Carolina, facing defeat for the slavers in the federal Congress, wrote a number of inflammatory "firebrand resolutions" denying the legitimacy of the Wilmot Proviso, intended for passage by the southern legislatures. Of them Senator Benton of Missouri prophesied, "As Sylla saw in the young Cæsar many Mariuses, so do I here see many nullifications."
I had no clue who Sylla and Marius were, and only a vague idea about Cæsar. But it was clear to me that it was my responsibility to find out about them if I aspired to such a weighty and dignified privilege as understanding the affairs of our great nation. When did we last see a national politician challenging our engaged intelligence instead of pandering to our self-interest and our preconceptions? Mr. Kerry and Mr. Bush were dignified, civil, and grave. That was a great advance in a campaign so far most conspicuous for vituperative Swift-boaters and crudely forged "military records." Since one of them will certainly be our next president, that is all to the good. Both debaters were of course "winners," since they were debating not each other but their own demonstrated or perceived weaknesses. Mr. Kerry often achieved confident, succinct clarity. More often than not, Mr. Bush spoke in complete sentences, most of which found subject and predicate in happy agreement of number. But don't confuse this sort of thing with Lincoln and Douglas going mano a mano.