Our Friend the Lie: A Look at Equality in American Politics

Read Plato's Republic, if you haven't. The text is old, but the content is every bit as relevant today as it was more than two thousand years ago. Deep in conversation with the young men of Athens, the philosopher Socrates begins to hash out what the government of an ideal city would look like. Much like the original political theorists who traveled to other cities and observed their customs to bring a report of the foreign activities home, we can go into this hypothetical city of Plato's and compare our own practices with his ideas. Perhaps, in so doing, we can look inward to correct our weaknesses and exercise our strengths as a nation.

In this ancient draft for the ideal city, we face the challenge of the noble lie: "If any one at all is to have the privilege of lying, the rulers of the State should be the persons; and they, in their dealings with enemies or with their own citizens, may be allowed to lie for the public good."¹ The logic used to restrict lying to the leaders is that truth must be highly valued, but lying has a purpose in improving the behavior of the citizens, and by extension, the justness of a city. The idea of a dishonest politician is a distasteful one, to be sure, but is there a valid place for lying in American politics? Before we rush to discard the idea of two-tongued leaders, let us consider our own history. Has lying historically been truly antithetical to our national political identity? If it has not, should we embrace or reject such a behavior in our government?

America is a nation of change. We were born in the bloody waters of revolution, a revolution that fought for and successfully did something new. That revolution was founded on a motivating lie that only managed to create the first working democracy on chance. Less than a century after the issuance of the principle and noble lies called equality and liberty, another leader again lied to change America. His lie minimalized the validity of that democratic success story in favor of highlighting the lie of equality, which was originally only subsequent to freedom and representation of the governed. The lie was in favor of equality on the surface, but in reality only served as a mustering point for forces that would protect the unity of the American states. Another hundred years after that, yet another leader reclaimed both lies not as lies, but as truths that had been woefully neglected and abused. This claim was a lie of perception on his part, but one that again provided a point of mobilization for change—one that took place on the front of civil liberties. Lying is not inimical to the identity of the United States of America: Lying as a practice of leadership has, in fact, been essential to the creation of the founding ideals as political truths.

"Run away from the subscriber in Albemarle, a Mulatto slave called Sandy… Whoever conveys the said slave to me in Albemarle, shall have 40s. Reward, if take up within the county…from Thomas Jefferson."² These words were penned and published by the same man who penned and published the words, "We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness."³ We know for a fact that Thomas Jefferson, along most of the rest of our Founding Fathers, owned slaves. And yet he was committed to the establishment of a nation dedicated to the idea of universal liberty and equality. From these two apparently contradictory statements, we can say that Jefferson and his cohorts in revolution were (a) lying to the world, (b) lying to the world and themselves, or (c) lying to the world in order to remake it.

The Declaration of Independence is a revolutionary document. Its purpose was to challenge the authority of King George and establish a government that would represent the governed, particularly the land-holding governed in the American colonies. This is a self-evident truth—one that can not be disputed. The problem that the Continental Congress faced was that, under the nearly global rule of monarchy and colonialism, the argument for this brand-new democracy needed a logical, motivational premise. The founding fathers of our nation did what any good logician would have done: They worked the problem backwards.

"Alright Jack," Mr. Jefferson said to Mr. Adams over coffee and scones one morning, "Our goal is democracy," which is the ideal way to represent the governed, "but how do we get there?"

And maybe Mr. Adams replied, "It's simple, Tom. Tell me–why is a government that equally represents all actually a good thing?"

Tom may have had to think this one over. "Georgie Porgie is a bastard, and if we revolt to get out from under his rule on the basis of poor representation, we're going to need an entirely new form of government to make our movement legitimate in the eyes of the other colonists. If they think they're exchanging one king far away for another close to home, they're not going to fight with us. And this will come to fighting, John. You know it as well as I."

"True, but the people won't look at that logic and decide to take up arms with us. There's something that they will believe, however, as good Christians. They will fight to defend that all men are equal in the eyes of God, and if a democracy puts forth that they deserve to be governed as such, they will fight for democracy."

"Do you honestly think we can actually play that 'in the eyes of God' part in our argument?"

"Why not? It's worked for the kings of England for fourteen hundred years and then some."

"Fair enough. But what about the fact that you and I both own slaves? Don't you think that toting the equality (not to mention liberty) of all men as our banner is bound to raise a few eyebrows? Will men follow hypocrites?"

"You've written about the differences between white men and Negroes yourself, Tom. You've read Linnaeus and Bernier. They're not full men. Maybe half of a man, two-thirds at the outside."⁴

Democracy was first and foremost a rationale for establishing independence from England. To establish democracy, the founding fathers needed to lay a foundation of the equality of mankind in respect to freedom. Whether they thought it to be self-evident or not, they had to declare the equality and deserved liberty of all men as such to present their argument with conviction. No one could be allowed to question their premise, or their revolution would fail. If using such strong language was lying, it was a creative lie that spoke into being an ideal that effectively united the other colonists against King George the Third. If a great nation arose out of that lie toward independence to become the deacon of democracy, the side effect was secondary to freedom from the economic oppression that characterizes colonialism.

The idea of race as an essential marker between free and slave was not far-fetched when the Declaration was signed. The cycle of rum and slave trading between Africa and the Caribbean resulted in slaves being almost categorically black in America.⁵ Slavery has not, however, historically been based around skin color. In fact, the American Heritage Dictionary notes in the etymology of "slave" that the word originally comes from "the widespread enslavement of captured Slavs in the early M[iddle] Ages."⁶ Slavs are about as white as they come. Slavery has always been based on economics and the strength of a nation's armed forces. In the case of slavery in America, these factors created a relatively strict polarity between skin color and class.

The problem with the founding lie of the equality of all men in the face of an entirely black slave population is that it solidified a concept that had been lurking in the shadows that blacks are not really full people. If you look to the Manicheans of St. Augustine's time, black skin carried the connotation of evil as being represented by an absence of light. "Scientific" studies of the time suggested that there was a physiological difference;⁷ economics encouraged the demarcation by placing blacks and whites on different sides of that chessboard called freedom. When a democracy based on equality emerged and started working without incorporating blacks as people, the lie of their identity as non-equals was affirmed as truth alongside the new government.

At the time of the American Revolution, the United States of America were about liberty from England. That is all. Lying is not essential to this identity, but it is a useful tool for enforcing an identity and mobilizing people around an ideal to create change. A lie gave America a sense of identity in freedom and equality. As blacks were not really considered to be people at the time, the nature of democracy's labor pains produced an unpleasant afterbirth of racial inequality as a self-evident truth to the United States.

Not quite a hundred years after the revolution (four score and seven years, some might say), and before the U.S. grew into the geopolitical entity we now know it as, the face of the Union changed. In the early nineteenth century, slave rebellions were coming with more frequency in the Caribbean and the South. The idea of unqualified slavery based on race apparently did not sit well with the subjugated race, and they fought back. Go figure.

Here again the problem was economy. In the days of "Cotton is king" and industrial revolution, slaves were a necessary part of producing cotton for the South to sell to the North which would in turn manufacture and sell textiles. Even if the majority of the citizenry were ideologically opposed to slavery, they knew that their profitable livelihood depended upon it. There were enough idealists and rebels, however, that by the time Honest Abe left his log cabin for the White House, abolition was a major political issue—one that had to be played delicately for voter sympathy. If Lincoln was a successful president, it is because he knew how to sing for his supper.

In July of 1858, during his senatorial campaign, Lincoln spoke to northern Illinois: "Let us discard all these things [i.e. quibbling over the superiority of race], and unite as one people throughout this land, until we shall once more stand up declaring that all men are created equal."⁸ The sentiment would seem more abolitionist than not, but it's hardly a cry against the injustice that has been done to the "inferior" race. In September of the same year, he said quite plainly to southern Illinois, "I will say, then, that I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of bringing about in any way the social and political equality of the white and black races."⁹ If there was any doubt about the sincerity of the first speech, the second should surely confirm it. Whatever his own personal politics might have been, Lincoln would not stand adamantly in favor of the abolitionist movement of his own volition.

With the issuance of the Emancipation Proclamation and the Gettysburg Address, both of which hallow the (lies of) equality and liberty that our nation was founded on, Lincoln was not really fighting for the ideal front he gave to the battle. Before the presentation of the Emancipation Proclamation, Lincoln explained his actions in a letter to Horace Greeley: "My paramount object in this struggle is to save the Union, and is not either to save or destroy Slavery….I have here stated my purpose according to my view of official duty, and I intend no modification of my oft-expressed personal wish that all men, everywhere, could be free."¹⁰ In that sense, his actions against slavery can't be taken as a personal lie; he apparently believed in the ethical good of the proclamation, at least toward the furtherance of freedom. But he was fighting for a higher goal than the founding ideals. Lincoln was fighting for democracy and the necessary unity of the states. "We here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."¹¹ In 1862 the continuance of democracy necessitated the revision of America's definition of equality and freedom. In order to go back to the foundation of democracy and E pluribus unum, the premise of that government had to be made true, whether it initially was or not. Lincoln knew that, so he confronted the problematic hypocrisy of a slave-supporting government based on liberty and equality. In both the Civil War and his political assertion of liberty, Lincoln re-forged a cornerstone of the American Dream.

At the time of the American Civil War, America was about the democratic Union. That is all. In order to serve this end, the lie of 1776 had to be made more true by acting to make all men free. Without again taking up this lie as a self-evident truth and fighting to maintain that performed identity of truth, the Union would have been split, and the United States of America would have been corrupted by the shift away from unity. This time, the great political lie was again a creative act, one that was essential to preserving the ideal nature the founding fathers had designed. The noble lies of the Civil War served to establish liberty as belonging to all, though the fight for equality was not yet won.

Equality had not taken up an actual verifiable space in American reality because both battles fought on the supposed basis of equality were fought for different reasons. Both times, equality was a pretty flag to wave to rally the spirit of the troops. Five score years after the war that brought America from the plural into the singular, another battle was waged. This one sustained less casualties, but had more effect toward making the founding lie of the equality of all men true, because it was fought solely for the purpose of equality. It was also fought primarily by those who were oppressed, and not by well-intentioned whites who would be easily distracted by the personal economic or political gain behind the grandiose banner.

Martin Luther King, Jr. did not lie. He did, however, use the lies of Jefferson, Lincoln, and the like to hold America accountable for the ideals that her cozy little economy was assembled on. Standing in front of the Lincoln Memorial, recognizing the larger-than-life lie of Negro freedom as demanding more practical meaning, King took the strongest, if smallest, step forward to make equality actually real.

When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir….Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check which has had come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt.¹²

Two centuries of the cardboard front "human equality" was more than enough to establish a working and powerful democracy, but it was not enough to turn equality from a puppet into a real boy, so to speak. That final transition required a little more—a little help from the Blue Fairy, if you will. King acted as the Blue Fairy, not by waving his magic wand and making things all better, but by forcing a change in America's perception. Democracy can't continue to exist in a cardboard box called equality, with a rag called liberty acting as the doormat, his actions and speeches declared. To the whites, he said, you've been talking about golden freedom and silver-lined egalitarianism for two hundred years, so show us the money. By accepting the original lies as truth, King calls the bluff and forces America to either recognize equality in practice, or admit that our democracy is naught but a house of cards.

At the time of the Civil Rights Movement, America was about democracy. Lying, as we have seen, was essential to the creation of that government of the people, by the people, for the people. The lies, like so many stones the builder rejected, had to be realized as cornerstones when King and his followers cried, "The Emperor isn't wearing any clothes!"¹³ As one of the current superpowers of the increasingly global political sphere, America had to choose to stand naked in front of the world or don a dressing gown rather quickly.

Equality is still, in many ways, a political lie. As a nation, we have come to a place where the suggestion of taking any person's right to equality away on any ground is tantamount to crime. What we speak with conviction, however, does not always find so strong a foothold in practice. The lie is more true than it was on the day that the Declaration set it on the road to reality, but women, the impoverished, immigrants, homosexuals, and even still blacks do struggle against a world that can't quite act in conviction of their equality.

Having considered this small piece of our history through the consideration of a possibly noble lie, let us return to the initial inquiry of this paper: Is lying inherent or inimical to American identity? Tracing the history of one lie, we can see that lying does not necessarily merit corruption in American politics and has, in fact, been fundamental to the creation of our government and our society as we know it. That said, this paper only considers the story of one lie—the dual tale of liberty and equality for all men in America. What has been productive in this one case may be destructive in another, and the justification of a few past lies is not inherently a carte blanche for all future lies. Each liar must think and consider for himself if what he does is right.

Notes

1. Plato, The Republic, trans. B. Jowett (New York: Modern Library, No year given) 86.

2. Thomas Jefferson, "Advertisement for a Runaway Slave," in The Papers of Thomas Jefferson, v.1 1760-1776 ed. Julian P. Boyd (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1950) 33.

3. "The Declaration of Indepence," in The Constitution of the United States and The Declaration of Independence, 13d. (Washington, DC: Commission on the Bicentennial of the United States Constitution, 1991) 35. I feel a bit silly referencing the most well-known 35.5 words in the U.S., but there you have it.

4. The dialogue is pure conjecturing from the author's imagination and may have no resemblance whatsoever to history. But, every argument needs a premise, and the logic behind the fictional exchange is mine. If you have a really hard time accepting that as a rationale for putting such an exchange in a paper, you may feel free to consider it as my personal interpretation of what's happening between the lines of the Declaration of Independence.

5. Throughout this paper, I have chosen to use the term "black" instead of "African American." I recognize that this is an issue of certain sensitivity, so I offer an explanation in hope that no one need be offended by this decision. The dominance of the term "African American" is, in my mind, no more acceptable than any number of more offensive terms. It is still a division made that specifically alienates a population based on skin color. Perhaps if we all used such terms on a consistent basis, European American, Australian American, Indian American, etc., the term would lack offense. We do not use such terms, and to call someone "African American" is to politely put them in the category of "blackness" without regard for their actual personal history. In all other cases, America is considered the melting pot. We are all people, and we are all Americans. Because this paper deals specifically with the issues of segregation based on skin color and must make the distinction, I am using the terms that cut to the heart of the matter. The problem isn't inherently where one hails from, but how dark one's skin pigmentation is.

6. "slave," The American Heritage College Dictionary 4d. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 2002) 1302.

7. See for example Carolus Linnaeus, Natural System (1735) and François Bernier (1684). Linnaeus in particular describes four races. Whites (Homo Europaeus) and blacks (Homo Afer) are described as follows:

European. White, Sanguine, Brawny. Hair abundantly flowing. Eyes blue. Gentle, acute, inventive. Covered with close vestments. Governed by customs.

African. Black, Phlegmatic, Relaxed. Hair black, frizzled. Skin silky. Nose flat. Lips tumid. Women's bosom a matter of modesty. Breasts give milk abundantly. Crafty, indolent. Negligent. Anoints himself with grease. Governed by caprice.

8. Abraham Lincoln, quoted in Howard Zinn, A People's History of the United States: 1492-Present (New York: Perennial Classics, 2003) 188.

9. Ibid.

10. Ibid., 191.

11. Abraham Lincoln, "Address at Gettysburg," 1863.

12. Martin Luther King, Jr. "I Have a Dream," from Martin Luther King, Jr.: The Peaceful Warrior (New York: Pocket Books, 1968).

13. Actually, the cry was more like, "Hey, your building doesn't have any corners!", but since that bit of imagery is less likely to conjure up a useful cultural understand, I'm willing to mix my metaphors liberally.

Editing Tip #1: What Spell-Check Won’t Catch

Homophones. You learned the word, aptly enough, in grammar school. “Watch out,” the teachers warned, waggling their chalky index finger, “for words that sound the same but are spelled differently.” It’s vs. its; they’re vs. there vs. their; hear vs. here; wear vs. where. Some stick with you better than others. Here’s the run-down on the most evil two of the rhyming monsters.

It’s: Contraction of “it is.”

“It’s not going to rain today.”

Its: Singular possessive of “it.’

“The tree lost its last leaves in October.”

They’re: Contraction of “they are.”

“They’re going to the movies tomorrow.”

There: That place that isn’t here.

“Put that can of paint down over there.”

Their: Possessive of “them.”

“That’s their car—I wouldn’t touch it if I were you.”

Still confused? Have other questions about grammar?

Email me: lyss.sullivan@gmail.com

Sneak Attack

This is a hand-drawn comic arranged with Photoshop and InDesign--I'm a bit of a newbie at comics and not an artist. What I find fascinating is trying to tell a story not with words, but with specific images that carry plot, emotion, and the art of the thing. This was done sometime in July 2007, I think, as a little present for my love.

Tragedy

One wild place grows in the middle of a blacktop world. You’ll know it from the inside, beneath the midnight sky. The trees, still pregnant with spring, hold the street lamps captive in their sheltered grip. Their unrelenting light will not come unbidden to desecrate this place.

Here, there are shadows.

Among the shadows is a swing, and on the swing, a swinger, and in her heart flow all the secrets of the world. Through her mind drift thoughts of immortality and what she’ll have for breakfast tomorrow, as she swings as though this moment alone is what she lives for, never noticing that time has stopped.

At that point in the arc of a swing where we all become weightless, she floats above the wild place to touch the world. Someone walks by silent. He does not see her. Two people walk by, laughing, then three, then one again. She is unseen

Rising and falling, touching and hearing, she feels fear and longing. She is torn in two minds. Don’t find me. She prays, Let me soar awhile alone. But when she drops, she wants to be plucked from her orbit by a strong pair of hands that knows where she is falling from.

One man walks by, leading a big, black dog. He sees her and stops. She sees him back.

On the gate of the wild place is posted a sign that reads: “No Dogs.”