It has taken me some time to put together even a short review of this book--but I have found myself reading and rereading the essays since they landed in my hands. Some of them contend with the American erosion of privacy--and with that, the diminished regard for self and others. They take the reader to Lincoln and Whitman; to various works of literature, philosophy, and film; in short, to exemplars of integrity and perception.
I will say a few words about three favorites: "Moral Imagination," "Lincoln and Whitman as Representative Americans," and "How Publicity Makes People Real."
Moral imagination--the phrase, first used by Burke, may not strike us as odd at first, but David Bromwich begins with its strangeness. The two concepts do not intuitively go together. Morality has to do with real situations, real action; imagination, with what could be. So what, then, is moral imagination? I will not give away the answer here--it's worth reading in full--but I'll hint at what it is not.
On pp. 16-17, Bromwich writes: "A usual mistake of imagination--especially when heated by ambition--is to think of other people as moral objects while regarding oneself as a moral actor." Moral imagination involves a different understanding, which does not lead to self-satisfaction.
The essay on Lincoln and Whitman seems to build on these ideas. What do these two men have in common, and what sets them apart from others? "Lincoln and Whitman respect the people too much to want to flatter them," writes Bromwich on p. 97. "They agree that democracy--to remedy evils which it has itself brought into being--requires a respect more thoroughgoing than can be found in any other system of manners."
What is this respect? It has to do with integrity and individuality--and, as I understand it, with the recognition of that which is hidden in each of us. On p. 100, there is a quote from Whitman, on his impression of Lincoln (I quote the very end here): "He bow'd and smiled, but far beneath his smile I noticed well the expression I have alluded to. None of the artists or pictures has caught the deep, though subtle and indirect expression of this man's face. There is something else there." This passage highlights not Lincoln's expression as much as Whitman's perception. The ability to perceive "something else there" inheres in moral imagination itself.
But what happens to a people that feels compelled to put itself "out there" for everyone to see? What compromises and deceptions are involved in publicizing yourself? The essay "How Publicity Makes People Real" examines this in an eerie light. Not only do people crave publicity--but publicity, in a perverse sense, allows people to express things they would not express in private. "We have yet to reckon with the novel fact," he writes on p. 223, "that the media have been so naturalized in the lives of many that they are now widely understood to intercede for us." The word "intercede" is essential here. If, by baring yourself (or some approved version of yourself), you achieve intercession, and with that, expiation, what happens to the person who refuses to participate? The private person, the one who "resists the gaze of mass culture," will be "classified as opaque, unreliable, even (in some hard-to-capture sense) potentially hurtful to normal people" (p. 226).
What happens to the one who does submit to the public gaze? The expiation does not do the trick (since it brings new humiliation) so the person submits himself again and again. This comes across disturbingly (and hilariously) in Irving Feldman's poem "Interrupted Prayers," to which I was first introduced in this essay. I won't give it away--it's worth reading in full and in this book.
What is the cause of this great publicity push? From p. 248: "The culture of mediation has been clamoring for a long time to effect once and for all the good it wants: faster beginnings, more efficient paths all the way into our lives." Yes, this is efficiency writ large and tiny; those who comply will get swift rewards and stamps of approval, while those who resist will be excluded, subtly and slowly, from that which poses as real.
This seems gloomy indeed, but the essay points to possible responses. In particular, one can maintain *interest* in one's life, interest that does not depend on others' approval: "But one kind of moral life depends on the possibility that, even in what we do not say, even in what we do not come to be known for, we remain interesting to ourselves" (p. 249). This is not self-absorption; to the contrary, it has to do with intellectual (and emotional) delight, continuance, and questioning, for the sake of something other than the public puffing of self.
There is much more to this book--and to these particular essays--than I have begun to suggest here. They give hope in that they suggest what integrity can be. They offer education at its best.