Party spirit distorts vision
This is an old story, but it's one worth reiterating nonetheless. Partisanship mitigates the analytical clarity necessary for deep understanding, of oneself, of the situation (whatever that may be), of those one disagrees with, of strategic action. That is, the drive to win itself becomes the obstacle to winning. But even if that were not the case, winning is not understanding; practice is not theory. And time and again one sees would-be analysts—thinkers, whether in the political-cultural sphere or the academy—blinded by their all-consuming focus on defeating their opponents, to the point that they simply cannot offer a plausible account of the situation beyond "they're bad, we're good, Must Vanquish All Enemies."
A good recent, and ongoing, example of this is the NYT podcast The Argument, co-hosted by David Leonhardt, Michelle Goldberg, and Ross Douthat. Listen to any episode in which Goldberg and Douthat talk to each other directly, not about a normative ethical or policy matter, but about what's going on in the world, in U.S. politics, in American culture, whatever. More often than not, Goldberg's "analysis" consists of value-laden, normative, typically denunciatory rhetoric. Which is to say, she offers judgments about what ought to be the case, and the extent to which the status quo fails to measure up. A perfectly fine and laudable thing to do, but not, alas, analysis. Whereas Douthat prescinds—again, as a matter of understanding what's going on—from constantly offering thumbs up or thumbs down, and seeks instead to engage in a bird's-eye view of whatever latest crisis or question has arisen, noting the landscape and what has happened or is likely to happen given a range of factors. To which Goldberg usually responds with a very eloquent, passionately argued, "But—bad!"
One sees this in the academy no less than in politics. I was once part of a group of junior scholars considering a recent book by a senior theologian. Most everyone in the group was socially and politically progressive; if we were assigning gradations of Leftness, they'd range from L5 to L10. The theologian in question is probably, on this made-up scale, L3ish. But instead of discussing the content of the book—some of which I agreed with, some of which I did not, but all of which I kept trying to get the group to consider—the entire time was spent hashing out the not-progressive-enough-ness of the theologian. Some in the room voiced their suspicions that the theologian probably wasn't left of center at all; perhaps he was moderate or even (horror of horrors) an R1 or R2. None of this, naturally, arose from a close reading of the text. The text might as well have not been in the room (in each of our hands, actually). There was a right team to be on; the thinker in question wasn't as committed as one ought to be to that team (if he was on it in the first place: enthusiasm as sign of true membership); what matters is the right team winning, understanding be damned; thus, no need to read what one already knows to be wrong, since it's (probably) from the wrong team anyway.
When winning trumps all, might makes right, and understanding—true, perceptive knowledge, as much of others as of oneself and one's ideas—falls by the wayside. Partisanship has its times and its uses, but it is poison for the mind.
A good recent, and ongoing, example of this is the NYT podcast The Argument, co-hosted by David Leonhardt, Michelle Goldberg, and Ross Douthat. Listen to any episode in which Goldberg and Douthat talk to each other directly, not about a normative ethical or policy matter, but about what's going on in the world, in U.S. politics, in American culture, whatever. More often than not, Goldberg's "analysis" consists of value-laden, normative, typically denunciatory rhetoric. Which is to say, she offers judgments about what ought to be the case, and the extent to which the status quo fails to measure up. A perfectly fine and laudable thing to do, but not, alas, analysis. Whereas Douthat prescinds—again, as a matter of understanding what's going on—from constantly offering thumbs up or thumbs down, and seeks instead to engage in a bird's-eye view of whatever latest crisis or question has arisen, noting the landscape and what has happened or is likely to happen given a range of factors. To which Goldberg usually responds with a very eloquent, passionately argued, "But—bad!"
One sees this in the academy no less than in politics. I was once part of a group of junior scholars considering a recent book by a senior theologian. Most everyone in the group was socially and politically progressive; if we were assigning gradations of Leftness, they'd range from L5 to L10. The theologian in question is probably, on this made-up scale, L3ish. But instead of discussing the content of the book—some of which I agreed with, some of which I did not, but all of which I kept trying to get the group to consider—the entire time was spent hashing out the not-progressive-enough-ness of the theologian. Some in the room voiced their suspicions that the theologian probably wasn't left of center at all; perhaps he was moderate or even (horror of horrors) an R1 or R2. None of this, naturally, arose from a close reading of the text. The text might as well have not been in the room (in each of our hands, actually). There was a right team to be on; the thinker in question wasn't as committed as one ought to be to that team (if he was on it in the first place: enthusiasm as sign of true membership); what matters is the right team winning, understanding be damned; thus, no need to read what one already knows to be wrong, since it's (probably) from the wrong team anyway.
When winning trumps all, might makes right, and understanding—true, perceptive knowledge, as much of others as of oneself and one's ideas—falls by the wayside. Partisanship has its times and its uses, but it is poison for the mind.
