I live in Chardon, Ohio.  On February 27, a local boy shot seven other kids, killing three and disabling one.  You might all know about it because the news media descended on our town in a swarm and projected us everywhere.  The whole community was affected, first by the shooting of those kids and what that violence meant to residents here.  That can be summed in a couple of phrases: “If it can happen here, it can happen anywhere.”  and “I knew ____. Who did you know?”  We’ve only been a city since the last census, but you could only note the difference in some improved traffic signage directing you out of town and the transformation of the local water treatment plant, which one ever sees. Chardon feels like a small town.

A second effect, in that first week, was a secondary horror, a worry that the town actually could be changed in a serious way.  One man actually said it to me, “We have to be concerned that Chardon will lose its soul.”  We were talking about the news media and the kids and adults who pushed themselves in front of the cameras.  Ambition?  A yearning for five minutes of fame?  Fortunately for us, few of the people who could have claimed the cameras for career-making purposes ever did so.  We had elected people to public office who had the character to worry more about  how to keep good public order, about the people affected by our tragedy, and about preserving the “soul” of our town, than about self-aggrandizement and self-promotion.

What I am writing here is really a response to John Presnall’s post, about voting in Texas.  Clearly, he made me think about big questions as they relate to small places.

In Texas we have partisan elections for all state designated positions. This year a lot of constables, sheriffs, and judges—judges on the district and appellate level—were open for election. Of course, state House and Senate, Congressional House and Senate, and the Presidency were all on the ballot too.

But who can honestly keep up with all this stuff?

I think we must.  We have to.  We have no choice but to “keep up” or our communities lose their souls (assuming a community can have a soul). At the end of his essay, Mr. Presnall says,

That said, if you vote in the Texas Republican primary you can vote in the typical terms of national rhetoric for this or that self-proclaimed conservative Republican—they all say they are conservative and who am I to doubt? Principles matter, but they all say the same thing. Whether it is sheriff or judge or state legislator, I suppose I vote like most others do, i.e., in terms of personal connections. My dad was a friend with that guy, that woman is married to my doctor, I taught Government to that girl’s father, etc., etc. Let’s hope he or she who is personally upstanding also knows stuff, and knows it well. This is, of course, typical of “face-to-face” local politics in America.

And, of course, as our communities grow and thrive, “face-to-face” politics becomes more difficult.  People often do not know who they are voting for. That might not be such a new phenomenon; didn’t Martin Van Buren say that was a benefit of party politics, that a party gave candidates identity (I paraphrase).  But Mr. Presnall is right; there is not enough identity in party politic, especially in primary elections.  In our community, we depend on yard signs to tell one another whose face we actually know or trust.  Yes, we can vote early here, but when we do we have nothing to go on but who we know personally.  The full communication of the yard sign populism has not had effect.

We have to find out who is running for office and what they are all about.  That means keeping track of what is written in the local papers, and even attending community meetings.  It means asking your neighbors and friends about local politics.  “Who do you know?”  It is much easier to know national politicians, you just watch the news in your living room.  The president is always in your living room.  He’s like part of the family and either you are happy to see him or you cannot wait for him to leave.  Unlike with family, when you are tired of a presence by TV in your living room, you can turn him off.  That’s a benefit.  How do you get to know about the guy running for local judge?  Oddly, this is much harder.

But it is important.  John’s right, if we vote on the basis of principle, we still don’t know what those principles mean to the person.  The person might be wrapped up in the principles or the principles might be wrapped up in the person.  It’s what is inside that counts, and it takes time to find out such a thing.  There more petty, but larger implications, too.  If we vote in a bad Republican, then all Republicans are tainted. A bad local politician of any stated principles can damage a community.

It pays to know the characters who run for office in your community.  Character counts if something big happens. Who can keep up with all of the people running for local offices?  I am not sure, but I know we have to do so, somehow.

One of the reasons Chardon feels like a small town is that the residents wish it to.  We pursue community.  Most people are involved somewhere, even if it is only through their children, in school and things like Little League.  I know — there’s Tocqueville, again.  He would be amused in the local coffee shops, especially the one right between the city and county offices on the square.  A community can only have a soul if individuals are willing to share a little of their own souls to make a community.  There is individual benefit.  You get to live in a nicer place.

Early voting started a couple of days ago in Texas, and it sure makes it easy to vote for a primary election dated for May 29. Given that I will be in Rome visiting relatives on that date, it is nice to know that I can still vote early in Texas. Should I say, “Only in America?”

Not to be too proud, but I voted in the Republican primary. Ten years ago—and surely 20 years ago—I would have voted in the Democratic primary, in that all the local elections were decided in the Democratic primary. Things have changed on the Gulf Coast of Texas.

I was disappointed that Santorum bailed from his presidential bid—and it looks as if Paul has bailed too—before the Texas (let alone Pennsylvania) primary. As recent as 2008, the Texas Democratic primary mattered when it was between Hillary and Barack. But back then, the primary was held in mid-March. It is in late May because of the dispute over the redrawing of newly added Congressional districts.

In the 2008 primary the nation learned about the “Texas Two-Step” that the parties have established between counting popular votes and counting delegates to the state party convention at local precinct meetings. For all of its populism, Texas demands committed populism, i.e., if you really care, you need to go to the precinct meeting. I’m sure the local Paulistas will make the most of this.

Texas also has an open primary, so who knows who voted for which candidate in which party back in 2008. There was no such luck this time on the Republican or Democratic side.

No doubt, all the presidential names were on the ballot. I saw Michele Bachmann’s name, and I was tempted to pull the lever in her direction just to spoil the ballot, but one vote doesn’t count, even in a spoiled ballot, and especially in a losing cause.

In Texas we have partisan elections for all state designated positions. This year a lot of constables, sheriffs, and judges—judges on the district and appellate level—were open for election. Of course, state House and Senate, Congressional House and Senate, and the Presidency were all on the ballot too.

But who can honestly keep up with all this stuff? In Texas, the appellate judges generally have no challengers in the primary election, but on the district level there were several candidates. District courts deal with important criminal (felony) and important civil (high property value) cases—but who can really vote on this in an informed manner? It asks too much.

Texas comes under criticism for its popular election of judges—from the local JP to the Court of Criminal Appeals and Supreme Court. An independent judiciary, it seems, is best kept under wraps by elective office for limited terms. This political populism is good locally, and it makes one appreciate the idea of federalism vis a vis the supreme law of the land. Not to be in favor of centralization, but I wonder about the sound judgment of elected judges as much as I wonder about the US Supreme Court in its appointment for good behavior. This raises questions about the appropriate role of auxiliary precautions such as separation of powers on the partly federal–partly national general level, and popular self government on the state and local level.

For good or ill, it seems that state and local government have lost their vitality and importance in terms of small “r” republicanism. State and local government have become as administrative as anything else.

That said, if you vote in the Texas Republican primary you can vote in the typical terms of national rhetoric for this or that self-proclaimed conservative Republican—they all say they are conservative and who am I to doubt? Principles matter, but they all say the same thing. Whether it is sheriff or judge or state legislator, I suppose I vote like most others do, i.e., in terms of personal connections. My dad was a friend with that guy, that woman is married to my doctor, I taught Government to that girl’s father, etc., etc. Let’s hope he or she who is personally upstanding  also knows stuff, and knows it well. This is, of course, typical of “face-to-face” local politics in America.

So anyway, I voted today.

BIG THOUGHTS HERE.

BIG THOUGHTS by a traitor here.

Here’s what Daniel Larison says at THE AMERICAN CONSERVATIVE. He’s not completely wrong:

The claim about American’s capacity to project power is an empirical one, and it is informed by the experience of the last decade. Many, if not all, realists acknowledge that the U.S. is in relative decline, but they do not necessarily claim that the U.S. is doomed to suffer absolute decline. The first may be unavoidable, but the second does not have to be. Many of the recommendations that realist advocates of a foreign policy of restraint and prudence make are designed to husband American resources and power rather than frittering them away in a fruitless maintenance of hegemony.

Realists do not dismiss the role of ideology and beliefs in motivating political actors, but they do often object to allowing them to direct the making of foreign policy because of their potential to blind policymakers to inconvenient realities and potential risks. Realists also tend not to put much stock in ideological justifications for policies, because these justifications are most likely providing rhetorical and political cover for other reasons. They are also usually wary of justifying policies in ideological terms, because this makes it much more difficult to cut one’s losses in a war, reach necessary negotiated settlements with unsavory groups and regimes, or cooperate with regimes that do not share our political assumptions and values. A national missionary impulse can also lead the government to engage in conduct abroad that contradicts core American values on the grounds that the ends justify the means. If realists generally eschew the rhetoric and assumptions of a missionary foreign policy, they do so more because they regard the policies needed to carry it out to be too costly, too open-ended, and too disconnected from the security and well-being of the United States.

Realists may or may not subscribe to a view that America is exceptional in terms of its political institutions and values. I assume that most, if not all, realists do think that America is exceptional in this way. Indeed, if this all that the new enthusiasts of American exceptionalism meant by the phrase, no one would be arguing with them. What realists do tend to find obnoxious is the presumption and arrogance embedded in the hegemonist version of American exceptionalism. This version requires its adherents to identify American exceptionalism in terms of economic and military superiority and to make a point of disparaging other nations by comparison. What hegemonists mean by American exceptionalism is simply a form of hard-line nationalism and enthusiasm for global hegemony.

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A BIG THINKING EXPERIMENT BY ME. So I’m working with Marc Guerra on Descartes, Locke, and Darwin and the modern science of virtue, and the result will be many annoying thought experiments such as this one.

Here’s an email I got on Jim’s path-breaking article. I’ve added, very quickly, a couple of my own comments:

It seems the one main lacuna in his argument is that he has no conception of heresy. So, for example, the intrusion of Hegelian ideas in the Social Gospel imperialists is read as the intrusion of philosophy into religion—but Hegel is not understood, as he should be, as a Christian heretic (which is clear when you read his early theological writings). For that matter, of course, from a Catholic perspective, the whole Puritan problem is that it also is heretical.

MY ADDITION NO. 2: From Stauss’s view, aren’t both Locke and Hegel both Christian heretics in the sense of philosophizing on the basis of nonself-evident Christian premises about personal or individual significance, in Locke’s case, and about historical significance, in Hegel’s sense? From the ancient view, national or political significance or mission is based on the lie of civil theology. But, after Christianity, civil theology is impossible, and so there can be no sophisticated dispensing with thought about the truth of theological and political claims. So we have to ask whether America is REALLY exceptional.