A Cerberus called Hubris

Last week, I made an offhand remark (on Facebook, actually) that I regretted. I've been mulling it over ever since. With just one comment, I was prideful in three different ways. Note that the title of the post includes "hubris," which is a thing made of things: an inflated, prideful term for "pride." Note, too, that when I use the term "pride" in this post, I really mean "egotism," but "pride" sounds better. And hey, my blog: I get to paint myself as I choose.

Here's what happened. My brother had said that Bush's final address reminded him of Louis XVIII. In an addendum, he explained that the Bourbons, after they were restored to the throne, proved that "they had forgotten nothing, and learned nothing."

Pride #1: Family. My first response was an unconscious reaction: a cringe, because "God my family is so weird." I am from a place and an era in which being smart was totally uncool. I grew up before Urkel, before MacGyver, before geeks banded together in their geekiness and found self-esteem. I grew up with Gilligan (the clown is the star) and the Professor (a marginalized weirdo), with the Bradys (angst over nose size, not grades so much), with Charlie's Angels--Kate Jackson, "the smart one," was generally accepted not to be as sexy as the others.

Actually, I didn't watch much TV, because my family was "weird.' No flipping channels (though of course remotes hadn't been invented yet and thus neither had the verb); I had to ask permission to watch a specific show. Usually, I had homework to do. And I actually preferred reading, though I didn't read with any plan or reflection and thus didn't gain much from the experience.

In any case, here my brother was "outing" us again, to the world. I could just hear the snickers from my grade-school classmates: "Louey Who?" My brother couldn't just keep quiet and attract no attention to us as we tried to navigate the shark-infested social waters of this community. Sheesh.

Upon reflection, I realized that this cringe was a form of pride. Sure, my family was kind of strange, but we were by no means the only "weird" family in our town. It was a university town--tons of professors and their kids were our classmates. We weren't all that weird and, although we were smart enough and my siblings were certainly academically very successful, we weren't geniuses. Certainly not of the type to make a John-Nash-style breakthrough (or, thankfully, experience his demons). After 30 years away, It's probably time to just get over myself.

And more disclaimers: Oklahoma is a fine place in many ways. Its residents, some of whom are my relatives, are warm-hearted and kind. The state even has its share of intelligence, both inside and outside my family. In my own defense, I would say that the state as a whole still doesn't seem to value its intelligent citizens to the extent that it should, and I imagine that its residents could agree with that statement, I hope without taking offense.

Pride #2: Country. Which leads me to my next response: "Geez, brother, who do you think you are?" It continues something like this: I knew you when you were nobody, just a kid in diapers, and now you're all big for your britches? I remember when you did this, that, and the other embarrassing thing, so don't you be thinking you're all something. I know better. We all do.

None of which is literally true, of course. I'm the youngest so remember none of my siblings in diapers and have no idea what their childhood trials were, other than the family "weird" vibe.

But that attitude--who do you think you are, I got your number, you can't fool me--is also a form of pride. It says, in essence, "I'm better than you." I first encountered the attitude in Arkansas in reference to Bill Clinton. He was governor. Everybody knew he'd run for President. Nobody thought he'd get there, because who was he, after all? Who were his people, his family, his wife (a Yankee!)? What right did Clinton have to power like that? Bad enough he was governor, with a "pedigree" like that.

But the country rhymes. As Arkansas thought of Clinton, so the rest of the South thought of Arkansas--it had been the frontier where you sent the scalawag sons, those who had struck out and run up debt in the "civilized" states of Georgia, Virginia, the Carolinas. How dare someone come from that nothing place and aspire to something?

And as the South thought of Arkansas, so the rest of the country thought of the South--a southern accent is a guaranteed guffaw. TV characters who are hicks, regardless of where they live, have that accent. Case in point: Larry, his brother Darryl, and his other brother Darryl lived in New England and let Bob Newhart be funny, but they were straight out of the Ozarks.

Clinton, of course, found success. But by the time Gore was running against Bush, smart was definitely "out." For the past nine years, intelligence in the U.S. has been labeled "elitist." The cunning, ruthless, and power-hungry have had their time, while marginalizing thoughtful analysis, information, and the wisdom that perspective brings. Ignorant and proud of it: that's us. While I dislike that attitude, some of it apparently rubbed off on me.

President-Elect (for one more day) Obama seems to be making it cool to be intelligent. Let's hope that intelligence isn't put on the pedestal formerly held by ignorance.

The actual answer to the question "who are you?", in relation to my brother, is that he's a historian, specializing in Eastern Europe with a firm base in all of European history. In fact, he's the top international non-Czech expert in Czech history. He has a legitimate platform from which to compare the Bourbons and Bush. Where I have fragments of experience and make wildly generalized statements from those bits of life, he is a genuine scholar. He actually knows what he's talking about. (But it's still my blog.)

Pride #3: International. My third response to my brother's comparison: "Please don't dignify Bush by comparing him to anyone else, anywhere else, at any other time. He is uniquely awful." From living in Canada, I can now see even THAT response as a jaw-dropping form of pride.

News flash: The U.S. is unique--JUST LIKE EVERY OTHER COUNTRY. In other words, the U.S. is no better and no worse than any other nation at any other time in history.

We all have a friend like the U.S. When you have a health problem, hers was worse. When you apologize for something, she's sorrier for a larger transgression. When you achieve something, she did the same thing earlier or is on the cusp of a better achievement if she could just settle down with her sketching pad. When you have an irritating morning, her morning was evidence that the universe is out to get her.

This friend doesn't understand that in your story of your life, YOU are the protagonist. She thinks SHE is the protagonist in all the stories everywhere. And similarly, the U.S. thinks she is the protagonist in the world's story at any given moment. Billions of people in other countries might be living a totally different story. What if we listened to them--and, gasp, learned from them?

So yes, compare away, brother. I see the similarities between Louis XVIII and Bush. Let's talk about other similarities to other countries at other times. Let's see how others have recovered from similar predicaments. Let's learn from others' experiences, so we don't have to make all the mistakes ourselves. Let's use our native intelligence, combined with an international perspective, to do some analysis and gain wisdom.

End of soapbox. Tomorrow is another day, Scarlett, and it's a big one. I need to rest up.