Are Principles Your Pals?

20 February 2006

–by Mike Murray

I recall a cornball device employed by one of my grade school teachers. To help her students with their spelling, she offered this: “Principals are your pals.” It was her way of helping us to distinguish that word from principles.

Although, depending on one’s marks for behavior (you know, “Works and plays well with others,” “Refrains from putting tacks on teach’s chair,” etc.), the bald-headed guy sitting in the big office down the hall might not have been so friendly. But I digress.

I think of my well-meaning teacher now and then, most especially at times when I find myself saying or doing something based upon principle, something likely to be met with disapproval. At such times when I follow my conscience and try to do the right thing — regardless of resulting resistance — I tell myself that “Principles (even more than principals) are my pals.”

That thought process usually just precedes some bit of unpleasantness, some difficulty that I could easily avoid if only I’d keep my mouth shut — if only I’d refrain from writing something for public consumption that has the potential to grate. Once in a while I succeed in “put[ting] a sock in it.”

More often than not, however, I eschew the path of least resistance. I can’t help it. As all who regularly find ourselves “doing what we have to do” know, life is not meant to be easy. The more you find yourself saying or thinking, “It’s the principle of the thing,” the harder will be your row to hoe.

The phrase, “To get along, you need to go along” inflames us. To us, those are fighting words. We believe that difficulty comes with the territory for anyone with a “principles” mindset. We consider excessive efforts at avoiding unpleasantness to be inappropriate. We believe that people who manage to pass through life without making any enemies stand for little.

The world is simply too diverse — attitudes and positions are just too varied and conflicting — for anyone of conscience to avoid offending now and then. As Martin Luther King, Jr. proclaimed, it was not the outrageous behavior of the “bad people” that he found most disturbing; it was the appalling silence of the “good people” that he found hardest to accept.

King was paraphrasing a notion often attributed to Edmund Burke: “All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.” The point that both men were making was clear. It is simply not enough to control one’s own behavior. More is required of the principled. Specifically, it is sometimes necessary to confront the impropriety of others.

Now, it is surely so that those of us who believe ourselves to be following our consciences err in our own judgments — err as often as anyone else. The mere fact that we believe someone else’s actions or positions to be inappropriate doesn’t make them so. And, for sure, we are a stubborn lot (convincing us we’re wrong ain’t easy).

Still, there is virtue in good — if sometimes misguided — intention. But be wary of imposters.

The late comedian George Burns put it well. In interviews, he was often asked the secret of his success. He routinely answered, “Sincerity. Once you learn to fake that, the rest is easy.” Burns was no doubt going for laughs. But there was a kernel of truth in his assertion.

All of this comes to mind as I ponder the current political atmosphere. It is positively sulfurous. I can’t think of another period in my lifetime in which the climate has been so acidic. A natural tension between the political parties is necessary — healthy, even — I suppose. But things have gotten way out of hand.

There is a quote often credited to Benjamin Franklin that may or may not have originated with him. (Franklin didn’t write many of the sayings with which he is associated; he, instead, popularized them.) The expression goes like this: “Democracy is two wolves and a lamb deciding what to have for dinner. Liberty is a well-armed lamb.”

The point is plain. It is not enough to merely achieve majority rule in a “good” democracy. It is, after all, quite possible for a majority to oppress a minority. Even ratified constitutions fail to offer adequate protection; if majorities wish to enact laws that run afoul of their guiding-documents’ tenets — ones capable of withstanding judicial review — they need only pass amendments to legitimize unethical code.

It seems to me then that, for democracies to succeed long-term, it is necessary that their electorates be informed, be involved, and be responsible. It is the last of those criteria that especially involves conscience.

When I was young, that meant one set of things with respect to politics in America. Growing up as I did in the Fifties and Sixties, the Cold War, global cooling (yeah, back then they worried about an impending Ice Age, believe it or not), and civil rights were among the topics that dominated discussion.

And, just as the nature of recent-past concerns over threats to Earth’s climate might come as a shock to today’s youth, so too might issues surrounding civil rights. The political parties had histories with respect to social justice that might shock, given today’s discourse on the subject.

If you are ignorant of America’s racial past, you might want to bone up a little on history; it just could surprise you. (For those interested in accuracy, it is necessary to peruse more than the politically influenced tomes in use in many of today’s schools, however.)

In any case, it was fairly easy in my youth and early adulthood to pick a political side. It went something like this: determine which party is on the ethical side of most issues — and then support it. Simple.

The innocence and ignorance of youth, combined with life in an inner-city setting, a meager family income, peer pressure, and other influences (Irish heritage, Catholic upbringing) predictably guided my early allegiance.

As the years went by, things got more complicated. The shifting definition of “political correctness” transformed many who had once stood against cultural bullies into bullies themselves. It became harder to distinguish the “good” people from the “bad.”

So I better informed myself of the actual practices (versus stated policies) of various government officials. I looked more deeply into the evolving positions of the parties. And I gained experience from various jobs, from military service, and from residence in different parts of the country.

I learned more about interdisciplinary topics, as well (a tip o’ the hat to my liberal arts teachers at Baldwin-Wallace College). I was especially intrigued by conflict resolution. I was fascinated by the difference between issues and positions.

A quick example: Two sisters are arguing over a blouse owned by the older one. The younger one wants to borrow it; the older refuses to lend it. The mother urges the older sis to give in to her sibling, who continues to refuse. Her position is that she doesn’t want to allow her sis to borrow it because “she’ll ruin it.”

But her issue is that her sister always gets her way, that “mom always takes her side.” Were she to express this underlying concern directly (or were her mother to ferret it out on her own), it would, presumably, be easier to resolve the matter — in any number of ways.

The mother could simply acknowledge the older sister’s concern and decide that it is her prerogative to lend or not lend the blouse. Seeing that mom didn’t automatically side with her sibling, she might relent. Or not. Or perhaps the mother could persuade the older daughter to trade favors: lend the blouse in exchange for the younger daughter’s taking one or more of the older’s turns at dishwashing.

Whatever.

The point is that it might be easier to resolve differences if only positions could be gotten past, if only underlying issues could be identified and addressed. There is a political parallel, I think.

When I was young, the differences between America’s main political parties seemed stark. The pendulum of the electorate’s favor moved back and forth between the two a few times, throwing power first one way, then the other (particularly as expressed by holders of the top job in the executive branch).

But differentiating between the two parties on the basis of where they stood on major issues seemed easy to me. Not so, today.

Who would have dreamed that Democrats would severely criticize the appointment of African-Americans to important (cabinet-level) positions? I thought their position was that blacks should be afforded more opportunity. So what gives with the Harry Belafonte crowd that such a grand occurrence should be met with derision?

And how about the Republicans? Did they not tell us that they were the party of smaller government? Then how come — once they gained control of both the White House and Capitol Hill — the size of the federal government increased by a substantial amount?

It seems clear that neither group is as sincere as it could — as it should — be. They have each taken positions that they claimed were outgrowths of deep convictions, convictions that formed the basis of their stands on issues.

These days, it appears that what each stands for most is the acquisition and the retention of power. It seems to me that the goal of most Democrats is to put as many from their party into government jobs as possible. Ditto for most Republicans.

Sure, there are members from each group who have integrity. There are no doubt some whose moral compasses aren’t completely out of whack. But I’m wary these days. I look closely at candidates. No group owns my vote; no party has my lock-step loyalty.

Finicky members of the electorate (like me) today hold office-seekers’ feet closely to the fire. We are usually direct, often blunt. We are sometimes annoying. Always, we evaluate candidates on the basis of conscience; we desperately seek those whose “principles are their pals.”

Berea Pundit