Once more I will skirt around deep commentary on the politics of the moment and talk more broadly about enduring viewpoints.
The “politics of the moment” I’m referring to on the periphery is still Donald Trump, this time in the morning-after letdown of the Senate impeachment trial and its predestined outcome guaranteed to disappoint, in one way or another, most of us. I do include in “most” those who do not share my politics.
As for me, I suppose what I feel most viscerally is the sense of dashed hope for some kind of vindication — a vindication that comes all too rarely and almost never without deep wounds from the process that is politics.
False hope stings the most because it reminds one mordantly of what it’s like to be a chump instead of a champ. It pokes at our inner Charlie Brown.
Still, “harsh reality is always better than false hope,” as the fictional Dr. Clarkson (Julian Fellowes) panned on Downton Abbey.
Whether some kind of overarching justice ultimately catches up to Mr. Trump and his enablers is unknown for now, but it’s not impossible. “Never give up, never surrender!” as they so melodramatically put it on Galaxy Quest. “It ain't over till it's over,” said Yogi Berra yet more famously. Even Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell is at least mouthing this sentiment for the time being.
"There's no question, none, that President Trump is practically and morally responsible for provoking the events of the day," McConnell said famously Saturday — from the safety of the lee side of his realpolitik vote to acquit. The judgment, which I do take at face value, resonates well with those who live on my side of the political aisle. But it leaves a sense of emptiness and altogether too little consolation for the Charlie Brown idealist in us.
Beyond deconstructing this week’s Capitol Hill buggery (sorry), let me say (as someone trained in law) that it should be no shock to anyone that legal processes are not a great proxy for justice. Here I’m talking about the “long … arc of justice” stuff that Martin Luther King, Jr., and abolitionist minister Theodore Parker before him famously talked about. Here’s the Venn diagram I want to convey:
I think most people who bother to think about it for a minute will likely understand this implicitly. It’s a simple ontological observation. (Ontology, in a nutshell, concerns itself with studying the structure and nature of reality and existence).
So, there is — we can posit, at any rate — this thing out there we might term objective truth. We have to brook various assumptions even then, such as about whether or not there are multiple realities or multiple universes that coexist, and so on and so forth. But Let’s keep it simple for now: I will aver that I exist (à la Descartes’ cogito, ergo sum); I am unique; and I brushed my teeth about half-an-hour ago. You can choose to believe all of this or to humor me with a pretense of belief about it.
All right, so it could be objective truth that I brushed my teeth recently. On the other hand (suspending our disbelief long enough to pretend that there is some kind of a justiciable dispute about this and that it is for some reason being tested in a court of law), a trier of fact — jury, typically — might or might not be persuaded to the correct and appropriate standard of proof — a preponderance of the evidence presented, probably, if it’s a civil case — that I did brush my teeth more or less when I said I did.
This all depends on lots of variables. Important among them are the makeup of the jury or trier of fact, the efficaciousness and effectiveness of the litigators, my credibility, the type and amount of corroborating evidence presented, and so on. If the case is a difficult one to decide, we might imagine that 100 identical cases or 100 iterations of the same case might produce differing results sometimes. Maybe my side would win fifty-four percent of the time, would lose forty-two percent of the time, and would end with an inconclusive result (e.g., a hung jury) four percent of the time.
Considering those results by category, one side or the other, or both, will always be disappointed. In any case, there is nary a whiff of “moral justice” to be sniffed. Our system might be notably better than random. For most litigants, it probably is — at least for those the system doesn’t innately disadvantage. But neither the winners nor the losers should conclude that the process has transformed an original, objective truth.
Truth is unaffected. Mortal infirmity is, on the other hand, affected. The fate of the innocent and the fate of the guilty are wound up in the doings of men and women; from the viewpoint of the parties, real truth is exonerated or besmirched. But the actual truth remains what it was all along.
On the other hand, we shouldn’t be so gullible as to believe that some higher force of rectitude or righteousness in the universe will beget justice where men and women have failed to secure it or ensure it for themselves.
That’s the justice I want to find: one we humans, applying our minds and channeling our best sense of right and wrong using our institutions of self-government, can raise ourselves up to discern. That’s the point of even having social and political institutions. Work to uncover the systemic flaws that blur what’s really going on. Look at evidence and apply a conscientious mind. Sniff out underlying truths without being waylaid by hucksters and charlatans. Play hardball, but with a soft glove. Never throw away the rulebook writ of moral compass.
The Senate this last week once again showed us its unseemly underbelly. We can do better. Realpolitik is “real,” all right, but it should never dehumanize us.⬕
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