exceptions

As you might guess, I’m rather dubious about the practical usefulness of the whole tradition of American exceptionalism, though it certainly has played a central role in the contemporary self-definition of the American polity. It is certain that Americans are not exceptional in their claims to being some sort of chosen people. As some readers of the blog are certainly aware, the Dutch in the 17th and 18th centuries maintained one rather strenuous version of the exceptionalist legend (I believe that Pieter Geyl has written a book on the subject, but could be wrong about this), and, like much else in the American experience, our own exceptionalism is at least in part an inheritance from our English ancestors, who sustained a robust tradition of their own singularity, at least, until Suez. I could also mention the strange particularities of the French, Russian, and German versions, and the Romans and the ancient Israelites were also ‘chosen’ in their own special ways. (I think that the Romans were the only group who, in some way, thought that they had chosen themselves, but I’m not an ancient historian so I could be wrong here.)

One interesting aspect about American exceptionalism is that it has become connected with a series of political and ethical propositions which purport to have universal validity. Thus, the American version contains the usual notion of divine favor combined with a well-defined and often dogmatic secular religious vision of the good society. The kind of secular messianism which Voegelin condemned as modern Gnosticism is central to this type of political legend, and it is quite dangerous. Though a much more virulent strain, a comparable version in recent history was expounded by the old Soviet Union (RIP). Once again, I would attribute the more benign character of America’s version of the chosen people story to the conservatism of the English tradition, but I would add that the inherent political skepticism of neo-Augustinian Christianity, which informed much of the American Protestant tradition, contributed as well. As both of these practices fade, however, I’m not particularly sanguine about the uses to which such self-inflation could put by an ambitious self-righteous statesman/politician. (Yes, I’m talking about you, St. Barack. Pay heed to the lesson of W.)

I was actually speaking with a friend a few weeks ago about American exceptionalism, and we both agreed that Americans are actually most unique in their ability to invent new games. American football, basketball, and baseball are just the proverbial tip of the iceberg (though my interest is limited to football and baseball). Unfortunately, as always, the damned English appear to have staked a claim to this type of originality already. I was reading Noël Annan’s book ‘Our Age’ the other day and came across this quote by Annan: ‘the most enduring legacy Britain gave to the twentieth century…was organized games.’ So, if you count rugby, soccer, and cricket, then I suppose that the English were there first once again. One difference, however, is that, when the English create a game, they export it and quickly become second-rate powers. America rarely exports its games (though basketball and baseball are becoming more widespread), and thus can still justifiably talk about ‘world championships’ with regard to our national sports leagues.