The Meaning of American Anger
At a Mass I once attended, a Filipino Dominican friar noted in his homily that whenever he returns to the United States after spending some time in the Philippines, he can sense how angry Americans have become.
I found myself agreeing with him, especially because this isn’t a generalization. Statistics bear this out. An NPR-IBM Watson Health poll, conducted in 2019, had 84 percent of respondents saying they’d believed Americans are angrier today. And a 2020 study by the American Psychological Association, titled “Stress in America,” ominously warns that, due to factors like the coronavirus pandemic and cultural strife, the country could be facing what the authors call “a national mental health crisis that could yield serious health and social consequences for years to come.”
I’m sure people have and will offer all sorts of solutions to this crisis, but I think it’s most helpful if we take some time to turn to the Greeks for some insight, particularly because human problems are, for the most part, perennial, and the Greeks, Plato especially, saw things clearly.
Reading Plato in light of our present discontents shows us that ours is a problem of speech, so we should turn to the Phaedrus. It features Socrates and Phaedrus, his friend and interlocutor, discussing, in part, the nature of rhetoric. There, Plato has Socrates remind us that “the rhetorical art, taken as a whole, [is] a way of directing the soul by means of speech.” For him, it is the ordering of the soul toward what is true and beautiful. He compares speech to medicine, noting that just as we give the body “medicines and diet that will make it healthy and strong,” we also give the “soul…reason and customary rules for conduct that will impart it to the convictions and virtues we want.” This is the ideal. But Socrates cautions that there are “cunning people” who “hide the fact that they know very well the nature of the soul,” which can lead to deception and to the inflammation of our lowest passions.
What was true then remains true today. So I’d like to take a moment to examine some of our best speeches, so I can demonstrate something has gone awry. Let’s consider two by Lincoln, beginning with his First Inaugural Address. There he appealed to “the mystic chords of memory” and “the better angels of our nature” and hoped that both would “swell the chorus of the Union,” in order to prevent war. But war happened, and it briefly tore the country apart. In “The Gettysburg Address,” Lincoln, hoping to save the Union, encouraged all to resolve that “government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from this earth.” The United States, bloodied, did survive. And as he’d hoped, “the better angels of our nature” ultimately did prevail. These are good uses of rhetoric.
But there are many examples of improper and dangerous use of rhetoric–just as there always have been, though they are made worse by our screen culture, which gives us access to all sorts of rhetoric, good and bad. Former President Donald J. Trump likely incited violence on Jan. 6, when he encouraged supporters to “fight like hell,” because “they rigged [the election] like they’ve never rigged an election before.” Current President Joe Biden, someone who is also not exactly known for measured speech, denounced “MAGA Republicans” as representative of “an extremism that threatens the very foundations of our republic.” These are partisan speeches, and they are meant to inflame, not elevate. They are directing listeners toward violence, not virtue, and anger, not love.
This culture also exists in one of our main forms of communication–social media. These websites, meant initially to bring people together, are operated by machine-based algorithms and are driven by clicks, which means the most inflammatory language gets the most attention. People recognize this, which is why they will intentionally say things to shock or anger. Frequent posters on any of the major social-networking websites are not usually known for measured or restrained speech.
Television programming is also a kind of speech. Networks have largely moved away from serious television shows and instead prioritize “reality” television, which is formulaic and easy to make. Some of these programs can be amusing, but most of them are not much different from sideshows you would see at a circus or midway. Explosive personalities are encouraged to live together or compete together or simply do extreme things, and we watch as they all tear each other apart. Consider: TLC, once known as The Learning Channel, now features programming like “90 Day Fiance,” which debases the institution of marriage for the sake of vulgar entertainment.
This is the culture most Americans live in. As we learn from the Phaedrus, souls can be easily swayed, and there are all sorts of cunning people who know that they can utilize rhetoric, shorn of truth and beauty, to inflame people, confuse them, or direct them toward nefarious ends. Such people have always existed. But they have likely never had such access to money or have had the ability, through our omnipresent screens, to direct attention.
This improper rhetoric, simultaneously criticized while also being quite popular, is the likely cause of our anger and our discontent. Good rhetoric, Socrates reminds us in the Phaedrus, is like medicine and a good diet. A good diet and good medicines will help us stay healthy. A diet of junk food and junk cures will damage the body, perhaps irrevocably. And so it goes with the body politic. This is again backed up by statistics: A study by Bryan Gibson, a psychologist at Central Michigan University, found that people become more “aggressive” when watching reality television, and Jonathan Haidt, a psychologist and cultural critic, observed that the rise of social media, particularly its post-2009 iteration, has made American life “uniquely stupid,” and dangerously so.
Speech matters. It is important for us to find speech that directs our souls, both individually and the national soul, toward the Good. And it does not need to be conjured out of thin air. It exists. We can find it in the Church. And we can find it in serious literature, film, and television. We can ignore our anger-driven social-networking websites and turn toward actual, authentic conversation, with beloved friends and family members. And we can elevate leaders who also elevate us.
None of this information is new. But it is pressing, and it bears repeating. We, as a people, need to recognize the harm our rhetoric is causing us. The priest I mentioned at the beginning of the essay is a prominent bioethicist. If we continue to be addicted to unhealthy rhetoric, his diagnosis will remain the same, and we will remain trapped in this cycle of anger, which could get worse and, as the American Psychological Association’s study pointed out, will have ominous consequences. But this should not be a surprise. Plato saw the truth of this millennia ago.