The European Union has both boosters and critics, but, given the threats of China, Iran, and Russia, and the failed or failing countries in Africa, it is in everyone’s best interest if the EU succeeds, though that may well take significant “forging,” to quote Monnet. What it will be in ten years’ time is difficult to predict, but the EU is not going anywhere. 

Though the Federalist Papers were ignored during the genesis of the European Union in the 1950s, and in its evolution since then, they are nonetheless useful as a means of analysis of the EU. Hamilton’s introduction to the Essays, in which he ponders the unique American undertaking, speaks to the EU project as well. Hamilton notes, 

It has been frequently remarked that it seems to have been reserved to the people of this country, by their conduct and example, to decide the important question, whether societies of men are really capable or not of establishing good government from reflection and choice, or whether they are forever destined to depend for their political constitutions on accident and force.

Hamilton may have overstated the case, given that the colonies already had well over a century of semi-autonomous self-governance as well as the advantage of the English government model. The EU, however, is arguably sui generis, something new, in a category of only one. Perhaps even more than America, it was created in “reflection and choice,” although some might argue that the “reflection” was insufficient. 

Treaties, Black Pots, and Black Kettles

Even though the US was an early proponent of the EU, hoping for a bulwark against the Soviet Union, the EU is the entity that conservatives love to hate; at times, there are even hints of schadenfreude when the EU finds itself facing challenges or crises. The few progressives who pay attention to the EU are in a sour mood as well, but in their case, it is because they think the project is failing. Both George Soros and the New York Times’ Paul Krugman speak of “the tragedy of the EU” insofar as it is falling short of a United States of Europe, largely governed by a supranational government.

To be sure, there is plenty to criticize, although some critics are apocalyptic. Others maintain that the EU was irreparably flawed from the start. At the least, the EU is finding just how difficult it is to acquire a common culture. At times, though, criticisms of the EU remind one of the proverbial “pot calling the kettle black,” an observation that some admit, even if implicitly. American conservatives criticize the EU for its “democratic deficit,” although the phrase is never well defined. To be sure, every democratic country suffers from a democratic deficit, which we might say is the gap between its political ideals and its governance. On our side of the Atlantic, citizen confidence in US institutions is at a disturbingly low level. A widely circulated poll a few years back found that Congress is less popular than a colonoscopy, a root canal, lice, or telemarketers. In the last several elections, American presidents have been elected, not because of who they are, but of who they are not, namely, their predecessor. Our electoral process is suppressing talent and integrity.

Criticized as well is the EU’s expectation that the concept of the nation-state will give way over time to a new system of governance. That expectation, though, seems to be dead in the water, to the disappointment of Europhiles: the nation-state is alive and well. In the US, a destructive ideology of “globalism,” perhaps even more radical than the quest for “ever closer union,” has as its effect the non-enforcement of the country’s southwest border, a devastating act of malfeasance that has only recently been addressed. At best, it will take years to manage. Critics charge that the EU has precipitated cultural decline, evident in religious apostasy, declining birthrates, and the social instability brought about by massive immigration. The US, however, has startled even Europe with its freefall into moral anarchy. Who would have thought it would take a British fantasy author to tell Americans that they are embracing gender madness?

The Lisbon Treaty and Sleeping Beauty

The legal basis of the EU is a series of member country treaties; the European Union was born in 1957 with the Treaty of Rome and now numbers 27 countries. Although the idea of a united Europe has been around for centuries, most admit that the impetus for the modern undertaking was to ensure that Germany did not wreak havoc on the continent a third time. In 1992, the Maastricht Treaty formally recognized the “European Union.” The treaty preamble contains the informal motto of the EU: “ever closer union.” In 2004, the EU produced a “constitution,” or a “constitutional treaty.” It failed, however, to secure the required unanimous approval of all 27 countries. Some of its features were copied into the Lisbon Treaty (2007), which expressed more, though still modest, concern for a common defense.

For years, the EU has enjoyed the luxury of talking about a common defense with nothing to show for it, except an annoyed NATO, which found such EU aspirations redundant, and thus competitive. The Lisbon Treaty, moreover, created the position of High Representative for the Union for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy. Although not the first to occupy the position, Italian Frederica Mogherini assumed the office from 2014–19, though the Eastern European EU countries expressed concern, suspicious that she was too sympathetic with Russia after its invasion of the Ukraine. At an EU summit, Mogherini tried to explain, “European defense has sometimes been seen as synonymous for the creation of a European army. This, however, is not the path chosen by the EU and its member states.” She added dubiously, “What we have built is even more ambitious than a European army.” 

On a more hopeful note, Kaja Kallas, former prime minister of Estonia, has just assumed the position that Mogherini occupied; she seems an apt choice for the role as her family suffered grievously from Soviet-occupied Estonia, in which several immediate family members were deported to Siberia. Kallas has expressed strong public support for Ukraine. 

In December of 2017, the EU established PESCO (Permanent Structured Cooperation). Though it fell far short of a common military, its ambitions did include ancillary services: a Medical Command, a Cyber Rapid Response Team, Military Disaster Relief, and improved Maritime Surveillance. In a rather odd tweet about PESCO in 2017, and hopeful it would create an EU military force, then EU Commissioner Jean-Claude Juncker fancifully announced, “She is awake, the Sleeping Beauty of the Lisbon Treaty.” 

Yet, “the mountains heaved, but brought forth a mouse.” The EU’s common military, the European Corps (Eurocorps), is an army corps whose headquarters number all of 1,000 soldiers, stationed in Strasbourg, France. At least the location is symbolic: the Maginot Line runs less than five miles from the city center. Sleeping Beauty still sleeps, and there is no prince in the offing, though there is a new seriousness, both in Brussels and in member countries, of military spending—even if it means deficit spending. Some of the countries that are derelict in meeting their obligations to NATO, and encouraged by the current president of the EU Commission, have pledged to meet NATO’s 3 percent of GDP, or even more. 

The effort, however, will be uneven; for example, the leftist Spanish government, comfortable behind the Pyrenees, explains that responding to climate change will be a major part of its defensive contribution. In addition, the EU is accelerating the process of adding new members; those candidate countries are in the Western Balkans: Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Kosovo, Montenegro, North Macedonia, and Serbia (Bulgaria and Croatia are already EU members). In addition, the EU is looking seriously at Georgia, Moldova, and even Ukraine. A notable success of the EU thus far, has been to offer a safe haven to former Soviet Block countries, and several of them provide a buffer between Russia and Western Europe. 

A Political or Spiritual Crisis?

Unlike Americans, who can point to philosophical antecedents from which the country drew inspiration—even if those sometimes self-contradictory antecedents stimulate debate—the EU has studiously avoided political philosophy, perhaps because of overconfidence in rational design, perhaps because of the devastation wrought by Marxism and Nazism, probably a combination of both. Kant’s hyper-rational “Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch” (1795) is somewhere in the background, even if it is not recognized. In trying to explain the EU, a prominent Member of the European Parliament (MEP) once told me that it had something to do with Rousseau’s “General Will,” taken from The Social Contract (1792). He did not seem able to elaborate, although he may have been correct. More apropos might be the thought of José Ortega y Gasset, especially his Revolt of the Masses (1930), although his warning of “hyper-democracy” and his promotion of a ruling elite would have been a hard sell. 

If anything is to unite Europe, and satisfy the quest for a “European identity,” it may be a recovery of its Judeo-Christian heritage. This was debated in a peculiar way in the attempt to write the EU constitutional treaty in Brussels in 2003. The question arose, and was debated for weeks, whether the preamble should include a recognition of Europe’s Judeo-Christian roots. The issue bedeviled the assembly, and when all was said and done, no mention was included in the document; some even worried that it would alienate Muslim immigrants. In 2011, the European Commission recommended to the member countries that citizens find a more “inclusive” holiday greeting than “Happy Christmas.” 

Joseph Ratzinger (Benedict XVI), however, asserts that Europe’s religious heritage is not an irrelevant relic. He addresses the question in The True Europe: Its Identity and Mission, (2024), which was sympathetically reviewed on this site by Paul Seaton. Benedict is, as Seaton titles his review, “A European in Full,” yet his warnings about the future are dire: “European rational law is in a crisis, now that it has completely relinquished its religious foundations and de facto runs the risk of turning into a rule of anarchy.” Ratzinger asserts, “There can be no future Europe that would jettison … the heritage of the Christian West.” “History,” he explains, “cannot be turned back.” In saying this, however, Benedict is not advocating a nostalgic return to a bygone era; he fully embraces the continent as it is today, and it is one, he maintains, in which “Christian faith can coexist and make room for different political positions.” Such an environment will offer “binding force,” which “safeguards a maximum of freedom.” If not, he warns, we will witness a “post-European” society.

Conclusion: Federalist #85

As a bookend to essay #1, in Federalist #85, Hamilton draws on Scottish philosopher David Hume to say that a successful constitution needs time. In the last paragraph of #85, Hamilton quotes from Hume’s “The Rise of Arts and Sciences,” in which the Scottish philosopher argues that, at a certain point, nothing can improve a government other than experience, time, and trial and error. 

The zeal for attempts to amend, prior to the establishment of the Constitution, must abate in every man who is ready to accede to the truth of the following observations of a writer equally solid and ingenious: “to balance a large state or society (says he) whether monarchical or republican, on general laws, is a work of so great difficulty, that no human genius, however comprehensive, is able, by the mere dint of reason and reflection, to effect it. The judgments of many must unite in the work; experience must guide their labor; time must bring it to perfection, and the feeling of inconveniences must correct the mistakes which they INEVITABLY fall into in their first trials and experiments.”

What might a “successful EU” look like? The answer is not an easy one. If we look upon the EU as a nation-state, then a Comparative Government perspective is apt, and one could do no worse than consider the Preamble to the US Constitution and judge the EU by those criteria. If the EU, however, is analyzed from an International Relations perspective, that is, as a kind of international organization, then different criteria might apply: We would hope for an entity with a substantial global presence, in a meaningful alliance with the US and other like-minded countries, and a sturdy member of NATO. Since the EU is its own category, it may be that if it at least satisfies the best of both categories, we might then deem the EU successful.

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“It ain’t no sin to be glad you’re alive.”

Bruce Springsteen is a force of nature.

You may not like his music, his politics may annoy you, but there is no denying the charisma, exuberance, and raw power Bruce Springsteen brings to the studio and the stage. That music consists of 21 studio albums, 23 live albums, and 66 music videos. His accolades include 20 Grammy Awards, two Golden Globes, and an Academy Award. A documentary film will launch on Hulu and Disney+ this October. Springsteen turned 75 years young on September 23, 2024, and he recently said there are no plans for a “Farewell Tour.” 

Bruce Springsteen became a voice of the working-class, thanks to his unsparing observations about what life was like for those without a silver spoon. But the New Jersey shore, factory jobs, hot rods, and motorcycles are just the context in which he develops his universal themes. Interestingly enough, Springsteen himself was never a member of the working class, many of whom spend their entire lives on the factory floor like his father and several of his friends. He began playing with bar bands before he could drive.

The word “dream(s)” is ubiquitous throughout Springsteen’s oeuvre. “Born to Run” was Springsteen’s break-out album and when Springsteen says we are “born to run,” he is not talking about escapism; he means we, as human beings, are programmed to push forward—and to keep pushing—to something more. Given the human condition and the world in which we live, it may be excruciatingly difficult, requiring a special kind of heroism that is not daunted by the obstacles. He is not willing to “live in the in-betweens,” but there are no guarantees. Springsteen has said that at times, he is “writing big, even operatic.”

In 1974, Springsteen’s reputation received a considerable boost when influential music critic Jon Landau wrote, “I saw rock and roll’s future and its name is Bruce Springsteen.” He continued, “When his two-hour set ended I could only think, can anyone really be this good? … Can rock’n’roll still speak with this kind of power and glory?” 

In 2021, Springsteen sold his song catalog to Sony Music Group for at least $500 million. Forbes now estimates he has joined the ranks of billionaires Paul McCartney and Taylor Swift. He did not come by it easily. He grew up along the poverty line in Freeport, New Jersey with an alcoholic, mentally ill father; his mother held the family together. Springsteen was raised Catholic but left the church after eighth grade, yet he admits that the Church never quite left him. His songs often employ Catholic imagery and allusions.

He is an avid reader, despite only briefly attending college, or perhaps because he only briefly attended. One of his songs begins, “We busted out of class / had to get away from those fools / We learned more from a three-minute record than we ever learned in school.” His literary influences include, but are not limited to, Leo Tolstoy, Cormac McCarty, Walt Whitman, Flannery O’Connor, John Steinbeck, Philip Roth, Herman Melville, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and Anton Chekov. 

In a world of volatile egos, Springsteen’s E Street Band has experienced very few personnel changes since its birth in 1972. The members are all at the top of their game. Multi-talented guitarist Steven Van Zandt is Springsteen’s close friend and right-hand man; he also played Silvio Dante, the mob consigliere and strip club owner, for eight seasons on the acclaimed series “The Sopranos.” Conspicuous in the Springsteen sound are the saxophone and the prominent acoustic piano. Despite three electric guitars, the E Street Band doesn’t indulge in much ostentatious lead guitar work, only so much as fits the song such as “Adam Raised a Cain,” which, incidentally, slips in a reference to Steinbeck/Genesis 4:16: 

In the Bible Cain slew Abel
and East of Eden he was cast

Springsteen has written a number of ballads that range from the melancholy “The River” to the dark. “Nebraska” is about a serial killer and the last line of the song is taken from the end of Flannery O’Connor’s short story “A Good Man is Hard to Find,” also about a serial killer.

He has occasionally written on social and political concerns. His blockbuster “Born in the USA” is, in his words, frequently “misunderstood.” It was inspired after he read Born on the Fourth of July by Ron Kovic, about the neglect of Vietnam veterans, also made into the 1989 film of the same name starring Tom Cruise. His most controversial song is the mediocre American Skin (41 Shots),” about the police shooting of Amadou Diallo in 1999. When he began performing it, he lost considerable support from the law enforcement community, especially given that the police involved were acquitted in what was an admittedly tragic, but extremely confusing circumstance. 

On September 11, 2001, Springsteen was inspired to write “The Rising,” his best social contribution. Springsteen said he was “dumbfounded” at the reports of first responders running up the stairs of the Twin Towers, as others ran down; accordingly, “The Rising” is written from the perspective of a firefighter and the chorus is a call to a national re-birth. One critic called it “a national Good Friday experience if there ever was one.” The song includes references to the Cross of St. Florian (the firefighter’s cross), Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, and Mary Magdalen.

Can’t see nothin’ in front of me
Can’t see nothin’ coming up behind
I make my way through this darkness
I can’t feel nothing but this chain that binds me

Come on up for the rising / Come on up lay your hands in mine

………………………………………..

Lost track of how far I’ve gone
How far I’ve gone, how high I’ve climbed
On my back’s a sixty pound stone
On my shoulder a half mile line

………………………………………………..

Left the house this morning
Bells ringing filled the air
Wearin’ the cross of my calling
On wheels of fire I come rollin’ down here

But none of these ballads and social pieces are enough to explain Springsteen’s epic success. What has inspired audiences for decades now are his songs about human beings’ irrepressible yearning to push towards something higher, even transcendent. Our fallen nature often frustrates those efforts, but with both grace and persistence, redemption is still possible—even in our darkest moments.

In the “Born to Run” album, he had not yet achieved the full clarity of his vision, but it is emerging. The second verse of the title song begins, addressing “Wendy” (who may or may not be real):

Wendy, let me in / I wanna be your friend
I wanna guard your dreams and your visions

A later verse reveals that the song has something big in mind. It is a destination, but the passage is difficult, elusive, and involves unavoidable suffering: 

Together Wendy, we can live with the sadness

………………………………………..

Oh, someday, girl, I don’t know when
We’re gonna get to that place
Where we really wanna go
and we’ll walk in the sun

Springsteen wrote plenty of “crowd pleasers” but even those are less than celebratory as they reflect our tainted condition, for example. “Dancing in the Dark,” from his seventh studio album laments

You sit around getting’ older
There’s a joke here somewhere and it’s on me
I’ll shake this world off my shoulders
Come on, baby, the laugh’s on me

The official video features a cameo appearance from a young Courtney Cox.

Despite the impediments, however, Springsteen’s soaring anthem vows “No Surrender.”

Well, we made a promise we swore we’d always remember
No retreat, baby, no surrender
Like soldiers in the winters night with a vow to defend
No retreat, baby, no surrender

Springsteen said that by the end of his fourth studio album, “Darkness on the Edge of Town,” he had found his “adult voice.” “The Promised Land” is melodically rich, but lyrically bleak. A storm, a tornado, will “blow everything down / That ain’t got the faith to stand its ground,” which includes “the dreams that break your heart,” especially those illusory dreams. 

Well there’s a dark cloud rising from the desert floor
I packed my bags and I’m heading straight into the storm
Gonna be a twister to blow everything down
That ain’t got the faith to stand its ground
Blow away the dreams that tear you apart
Blow away the dreams that break your heart
Blow away the lies that leave you nothing but lost and broken

The album features Springsteen’s most powerful anthem, “Badlands.” The title symbolizes the struggle that may keep us down but against which we continue to battle to reach the dream of a richer life. Here it becomes clearer that suffering is unavoidable but also transformative. 

The song begins:

Lights out tonight
Trouble in the heartland
Got a head-on collision
Smashin’ in my guts, man
I’m caught in a crossfire
That I don’t understand

The chorus is intense, the melody reinforced by Van Zandt’s harmony:

Badlands, you gotta give it everyday
Let the broken hearts stand
As the price you’ve gotta pay
We’ll keep pushin’ till it’s understood
And these badlands start treating us good

Springsteen insists, “I don’t give a damn for the old played-out scenes,” but he admits the agony involved in stretching forward.

To talk about a dream, / try to make it real
You wake up in the night / with a fear so real
You spend your life waiting / For a moment that just don’t come.

He continues with simple but sage advice: “Well don’t waste your time waiting.” Though the path to a meaningful, even transcendent, life may be tortuous, forward progress is driven by vision, passion, and the human will.

I believe in the love that you gave me
I believe in the faith / that could save me
I believe in the hope / And I pray that some day it may raise me above these badlands.

The last stanza is written to encourage those who would dislodge themselves from inertia:

For the ones who had a notion / A notion deep inside
That it ain’t no sin to be glad you’re alive.

There are undeniable religious dimensions to Springsteen’s music. He sees man’s fallen condition but believes in the possibility of redemption through suffering, belief, and the hope of a future life, so much so, that he is useful in fighting perhaps the most difficult of the traditional “Seven Deadly Sins.” Sloth is debilitating and runs far deeper than ignoring the six-thirty a.m. alarm. It is a rejection of the gift of life, an indifference to what is vital, especially the intangible things that seem out of reach and hard to define. According to the Catholic Catechism, sloth is a “culpable lack of physical and spiritual effort.” It is characterized by despair, and, as Dorothy Sayers wrote, it is a “poisoning of the will.” Sloth denies that human beings are “born to run.” 

Springsteen struggles against depression, perhaps a genetic gift from his impaired father, but sloth doesn’t seem to be his vice. Those whose life is stubbornly static might find encouragement in his music. A student commented that, despite his intelligence, he performed poorly in school; then he became a Springsteen fan, and within months, became a straight-A student. Motivation can be hard to find, especially since motivation is required to pursue it. But if no relief is found in Prozac, Wellbutrin, Clonazepam, Ritalin, Modafinil, Xanax, the “OnLine Therapy” app, or a new trainer at the gym, singing along with 50,000 fans in Barcelona may be just the right medicine.

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Spain’s Political Disarray

If constitutional monarchies possess a unifying force, Spain may need the institution more than ever in light of the deepening political divisions that now threaten to drag Spain into political paralysis. The present prime minister, Pedro Sanchez, is stubbornly hanging on to power by a thread, and seems determined to do so no matter the cost. In exchange for parliamentary votes, he has already granted amnesty to hundreds of Catalan separatists for their 2017 unconstitutional independence referendum. As is the case across Europe, the stabilizing political middle is weakening; yet unlike certain European neighbors, Spain is unable to form large coherent coalitions. As W. B. Yeats warned, “Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold.”

To stay in power after the inconclusive national elections in 2023, Sanchez concocted a Hydra-headed “coalition” that gave tiny splinter parties considerable leverage. Those parties have now become increasingly recalcitrant. Historically the two major parties in Spain’s parliament are the conservative party (PP) and the socialist party (PSOE). The 6’3” telegenic Sanchez of PSOE is nicknamed Señor Guapo (“Mr. Handsome”). PP could probably have found someone with less charisma than its leader Alberto Núñez Feijóo, but it would not have been easy. Hailing from Galicia in the northwest of the country, he’s more of a competent bureaucrat than an inspirational leader. 

The smaller parties, some of which have only two or three parliamentary seats, represent Catalonia (two different parties), the Basque Country (two different parties), the Canary Islands, the far left (two different parties)—the list goes on. The neo-Marxist party, Podemos, recently added yet another head to Sanchez’s Hydra. The coalition is becoming unruly, and Sanchez of PSOE is finding it increasingly hard to pass what should be non-partisan legislation—like the use of Covid funds—as earlier backroom agreements are ignored by recalcitrant parliamentarians. 

The leader, too, is doing his part to make the party look clownish. Sanchez has so emboldened the Catalan separatists—now a minority in Catalonia—that their president, Carles Puigdemont, who has been in self-imposed exile in Brussels for seven years to escape prosecution, made a surprise appearance in early August in Barcelona. Despite amnesty for the referendum, he is still wanted for embezzlement of public funds. He spoke at a surprise rally and was then spirited away by allies. A comic game of cat-and-mouse ensued in which it was hard to determine who looked more ridiculous, Sanchez or Puigdemont.

Multiple sources report that Puigdemont successfully evaded police and is now back in his residence-in-exile in Waterloo, Belgium. Adding to the cauldron, Sanchez’s wife, Begoña Gómez, is under investigation for financial corruption. Such challenges might drive a man to prayer were Sanchez not a self-described atheist who made European headlines as the first Spanish prime minister to take the oath of office without a Bible or a crucifix.

The Monarchy Today

On October 31, 2023, on her 18th birthday, Princess Leonor, the heir to Spain’s throne, formally stepped into the spotlight by swearing allegiance to the Spanish constitution and the Spanish State. She was flanked by her father, King Felipe VI, her mother, the Queen Consort Letizia, and her younger sister, La Infanta, Sofía. 

Leonor and Sofía both attended “Hippie Hogwarts,” the UWC Atlantic College in Wales, United Kingdom. The school is a favorite of royal families: Leonor graduated alongside Princess Alexia of the Netherlands; other alumni include Belgium’s Princess Elisabeth and Princess Raiyah bint Al Hussein of Jordan. The school proudly offers an “experimental, experiential journey.” They may even read books.

More recently, Leonor has concluded her first of three years of military training at the Academia General Militar in Zaragoza, Spain. Admittedly, she is not yet a fierce presence in uniform.

Leonor will eventually succeed her father, King Felipe VI, whose grandfather, Juan Carlos, abdicated the throne under a cloud of scandal in 2014. Juan Carlos’s reign began well as he was looked upon as the ideal constitutional monarch. Though Franco had groomed him to continue the Generalissimo’s authoritarian rule, upon the latter’s death and under Juan Carlos’ leadership, Spain became a bona fide constitutional monarchy within three years. It had a well-conceived constitution that has survived difficult times and a half dozen different prime ministers. In 1981, largely through the force of his personality, the king put down a dramatic, televised, golpe de Estado, commanding the military to abandon their plans and restore constitutional order. His intervention has been called the foundational event of modern Spanish democracy.

In the decades following, the public was willing to overlook Juan Carlos’ sexual dalliances, but after revelations of financial corruption, he chose to abdicate in favor of his son Felipe and scurry off to Abu Dhabi, where he still lives in self-imposed exile. By dint of Section 56 of the 1978 Constitution, the king enjoys sovereign immunity. He has since made two cautious visits back to Spain to the disapproval of his son. Even more recently, he attended the funeral of his third cousin Queen Elizabeth II of Great Britain. 

Upon his ascension to the throne, the new King, Felipe VI immediately endeavored to salvage the integrity and reputation of the Crown. He announced that he would not take “a single euro” of his inheritance when his father died; he also stripped Juan Carlos of his annual taxpayer-funded stipend, which has left the former king living on the generosity of wealthy friends abroad.

Felipe VI has made admirable and somewhat successful efforts to restore transparency and dignity to the throne. At times, his wife Letizia has complicated things. She is a “commoner,” a former news anchor, and a divorcee, but admired for her dignified composure and her devotion to the royal family. In 2016, however, she inadvertently dragged the monarchy into ridicule. A close friend of the royals, Javier López Madrid, CEO of one of Europe’s largest conglomerates, was accused of financial corruption as reported by La Otra Crónica (LOC), a monthly supplement to the mainstream newspaper El Mundo. In a text message, Letizia referred to the “mierda (s**t) de LOC” and assured López of her support because he is her “compi yogui” (yoga mate). 

Leonor is poised and winsome, and in her public appearances, she seems to be her father’s child, suggesting she understands the dignity and importance of the office she will inherit. In her formal appearance in October, she seemed to exude a love for Spain. We can only guess, of course, how competently she would occupy the throne.

Does Constitutional Monarchy Have A Future?

Not everyone appreciates the constitutional monarchy. Were they all dissolved, some would say, “Good riddance to a ridiculous inanity.” 

Monarchies, they argue, are expensive, extravagant, a remnant of feudalism, bastions of privilege, and symbols of inherited power. On the face of it, they are anachronisms, theoretically antithetical to democratic principles—the institutional equivalent of the human appendix.

Edmund Burke’s ethereal vision of the Queen of France and his dismay upon her execution seems more treacly than it sounded when he wrote: 

It is now 16 or 17 years since I saw the queen of France, then the dauphiness, at Versailles. And surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she had just begun to move in, glittering like the morning star full of life and splendour and joy. 

Yet, on balance, European constitutional monarchies compare favorably with European republics. Even the harshest critics of monarchy, constitutional or otherwise, admit the institution has an inexplicable and curious persistence. Despite one annus horribilis after another, the British monarchy motors on. 

In 1999, 55 percent of Australians voted to retain the monarch as their head of state. The death of Elizabeth II has ignited further debate over republicanism in New Zealand, which often makes its decisions by doing the opposite of what Australia does. But, among other factors, the constitutionally recognized indigenous citizenry, the Māori, finds security in retaining the British crown.

Spain’s constitutional monarchy still enjoys considerable respect and support. In the most recent poll, almost 60 percent of Spaniards polled support the monarchy, while a little over 30 percent would prefer a republic. The remaining 10 percent seems indifferent. Every April 14, modest anti-monarchy demonstrations are held in various cities across the country. The date is the commemoration of the “Second Republic” of Spain, proclaimed because on that date in 1931, King Alfonso XIII, grandfather of the present king, was deposed and Spain was declared a republic. 

But it is not entirely clear what is being commemorated. The republic was short-lived. After an ugly three-year civil war, and a 39-year autocracy, a democracy reappeared, this time as a constitutionally established monarchy. The conventional wisdom is that all would have been well were it not for Franco, but history is surely more complex. Despite its ups and downs, Spain has now been a stable constitutional monarchy for half a century.

The Spanish Constitution of 1978, Part II Sections 56-65, devotes considerable space to the functions and responsibilities of the Crown, and the extensive guidelines that govern its succession. Presumably, abolishing the monarchy would require a fundamental change to the Constitution. While theoretically this might be done by amendment, it is doubtful: it would be akin to erasing Section II of the US Constitution by amendment. More likely, abolishing the Crown would require a new constitution in which case the cure would likely be far worse than the disease.

The most important benefits of a democratic monarch may be intangible. Part II begins, “The King is the Head of State, the symbol of its unity and permanence.” Proponents of the institution argue that it provides a sense of continuity as power moves from one political party to another, or as parties themselves evolve and devolve. It is a reminder that there is life beyond politics, offering a kind of civil religion with a unique political liturgy. So far from arrogance, the symbol of the monarch may counsel humility in human affairs, a reminder of the limits of rationality and democratic governance.

The primary enemies of constitutional monarchy do not seem to be populists, but rather the political left: several notable members of the PSOE boycotted Leonor’s inauguration. Perhaps most critically, constitutional monarchy requires the support of the royals themselves. Too many seem willing to foul the nest, whether it is the sordid behavior of Prince Andrew in the United Kingdom, the reckless driving of Prince Laurent of Belgium, or the philandering of Prince Albert of Monaco who has sired two—or is it three?—illegitimate children. 

A new generation of European monarchs is now emerging. In addition to the UK, Spain, and Belgium, the king of Norway is 87 years old, the king of Sweden, 78. Both have young heirs; accordingly, Europe may be on the cusp of a new era of constitutional monarchy. A few have pronounced the end of liberalism. Is the diagnosis the same for republics and constitutional monarchies? Though Burke proclaimed that “chivalry” is dead, might civic virtue remain?

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But how does one organize a kaleidoscope? The Hawkes employ an inventive format, which is at times aesthetically attractive, even if they squeeze too many stories—six—onto the screen, so that most of the truncated tales become quizzical teasers as much as satisfying summaries.

“Wildcat,” the name of the film, is an early short story by Flannery O’Connor and is one of the six stories used as her Master of Fine Arts thesis, “The Geranium: A Collection of Short Stories at the University of Iowa. It was posthumously published in the 1970 North American Review and in 1971 appeared in the Library of America’s Flannery O’Connor. Elements of “Wildcat” were also integrated into “Judgment Day,” the last short story in O’Connor’s second collection, Everything That Rises Must Converge, also published posthumously. 

That Ethan Hawke, as the director, and Maya Hawke, as the lead actress, would choose the short story title for their movie “Wildcat” (2023) indicates that the father-daughter duo is, as they claim, O’Connor aficionados, both for her art, and her spirituality. In an interview, Maya Hawke added that the title is fitting given there was a certain ferocity about O’Connor’s writing and her faith. The screenplay is written by Ethan Hawke and Shelby Gaines, the accomplished screenwriter, musician, and composer. The elder Hawke shares that as a young man, his parents introduced him not only to O’Connor but also to Walker Percy, Thomas Merton, and Dorothy Day, all of whom, Hawke explains, provided him with a kind of spiritual nourishment.

Wildcat is the most recent in a short list of O’Connor adaptations. Those include John Huston’s unexceptional 1979 adaptation of O’Connor’s first novel Wise Blood. Interpretations of O’Connor’s short stories include the misguided The Life You Save (1957), drawn from “The Life You Save May Be Your Own,” in which the story’s handicapped grifter is played by none other than Gene Kelly. The film, in an act of cinematic sacrilege, is rewritten with a happy ending. At least Kelly does not dance. Better is the Displaced Person (1977), from one of O’Connor’s most brilliant short stories of the same name. The film includes a young Samuel L. Jackson as the farmhand, “Sulk.”

Wildcat, then, alternates between various scenes of O’Connor’s adult life, some shot in her farmstead, Andalusia, and condensed enactments of a half dozen of her short stories; namely, “The Comforts of Home,” “The Life You Save May Be Your Own,” “Parker’s Back,” “Revelation,” “Everything That Rises Must Converge,” and “Good Country People.” Maya Hawke is a talented actress, and for the most part, she portrays the various roles she inhabits well. Including the role of Flannery O’Connor herself, Hawke must inhabit six other literary characters, one of them a young man in “Everything That Rises.” One might be forgiven for suspecting that Ethan Hawke had in mind a showcase for his daughter.

Laura Linney plays Regina, Flannery’s mother, as well as prominent roles in the short stories. Liam Nielson makes a cameo appearance as a visiting priest, a role borrowed from the colorful “Father Flynn” in O’Connor’s short story, “The Enduring Chill.”

Those who are O’Connor aficionados, if not scholars, will have a decided advantage viewing Wildcat. Others will be intrigued to read more. Yet others will shake the dust off their feet as they leave perplexed. Maya Hawke admitted, perhaps in an over-statement, that Wildcat is “a very weird movie, and it’s really only for people who have crazy brains and really artistic minds and weird dreams.” That’s quite a skill set. In interviews, the Hawkes seem well aware of the central element of “grace” in O’Connor’s stories; whether they were able to consistently represent it into the film is another question.

The movie begins with “The Comforts of Home,” fashioned as a noir crime story and presented as if it were a preview of a coming attraction. It’s an intriguing mechanism by which to start the film, but many viewers will not recognize that the Hawkes are making a brief nod to an O’Connor short story. Then, with O’Connor/Maya Hawke as narrator, the movie highlights one of the most stirring passages in all of O’Connor’s literature, found in the first paragraph of the third chapter of her novel, Wise Blood. It adroitly depicts the eternal and purposeful nature of the universe in contrast with human indifference:

The black sky was underpinned with long silver streaks that looked like scaffolding and depth on depth behind it were thousands of stars that all seemed to be moving very slowly as if they were about some vast construction work that involved the whole order of the universe and would take all time to complete. No one was paying any attention to the sky. 

In a story such as this one, it is assumed that a certain amount of literary license is granted. Much of O’Connor’s dialogue is a mélange of judiciously chosen quotes from her correspondence (e.g., The Habit of Being), her graduate school diary (A Prayer Journal), and her collected essays (Mystery and Manners), as well as her short stories and her first novel. Those passages display O’Connor’s wit, intelligence, and iconoclasm.

Hawke and Gaines take further license when they adeptly create a new scene in the portrayal of “Revelation.” This is perhaps O’Connor’s most accessible short story, and it is handled deftly. Drawing on a repeating theme in the story, Hawke fashions a kitschy Jesus to confront a vain and condescending Mrs. Turpin. It works, and it is O’Connor-esque enough to suppose the author would be pleased, or at least bemused. It also offers the best view of O’Connor’s all-important phenomenon of grace. 

The Hawkes, though, take literary license beyond its proper limits with their portrayal of O’Connor as a tortured soul, rather than an intense, pious, and driven writer. This narrative is pursued in ways large and small. Most prominent is Maya Hawke’s consistent over-acting of O’Connor as a habitually emotionally distraught young woman. The Hawkes also fabricate a romantic interest in the person of American poet Robert “Cal” Lowell, whom she first met as a graduate student at the Creative Writers Workshop at the University of Iowa when he was invited to read his poetry to the class. Nothing more than a friendship developed between O’Connor and Lowell and almost all of O’Connor’s later letters to Lowell are addressed both to him and also to his wife, Elizabeth Hardwick. O’Connor may have had a mild but undeveloped romantic interest with Erik Langkjaer, an academic book salesman, but that would have required the unnecessary introduction of a marginal character into the movie. 

It’s not that O’Connor might not have engaged in a relationship, if not marriage, but that would have required an alternate life: Through her time at Georgia State College for Women and then graduate school in Iowa, O’Connor was intensively focused on what she perceived as not only her vocation, but also her spiritual calling. She was just gaining momentum when she was diagnosed with debilitating lupus in 1949, the disease that killed her father, Edward F. O’Connor. She lived fifteen more years, dying at an even earlier age, 39, than her father, who was 45.

Also problematic is the cinematic version of O’Connor’s close companionship with her mother, whom she called by her first name, Regina. In the film, Flannery and Regina have a strained, tense relationship—Regina searches for patience with O’Connor, a difficult full-grown child. Flannery and Regina, though, attended daily Mass at Sacred Heart Church in Milledgeville, Georgia, and the pair were frequently seen at lunch at the Sanford House Tea Room, a popular restaurant across from the courthouse in downtown Milledgeville. 

In the film, O’Connor’s room and study are illogically situated up a long flight of stairs in her house at Andalusia. Except that they aren’t. They were on the ground floor as any visitor to Andalusia can see; for that matter, it is evident on the Andalusia website. But requiring Flannery to try and navigate the stairs with her crutches adds to her pitiable portrait, especially when Ethan Hawke heartlessly has her fall from top to bottom. 

Her final fifteen years were devoted to writing, an almost superhuman challenge given her deteriorating health, and the palliative treatment that she called “worse than the disease.” In the film, Flannery/Maya injects steroids into her thigh wielding a frightening economy-size syringe, shots that O’Connor said “send you off in a rocket.” But self-pity was not in her nature. She wrote Lowell and Hardwick in 1953, 

I am making out fine in spite of any conflicting stories. … I have enough energy to write with and as that is all I have any business doing anyhow, I can with one eye squinted take it all as a blessing. What you have to measure out, you come to observe more closely, or so I tell myself.

Elsewhere she added, “Sickness before death is a very appropriate thing and I think those who don’t have it miss one of God’s mercies.” 

The Hawkes, unfortunately, tread the well-worn path in which Flannery is her stories and her stories are Flannery; and by casting Linney in multiple roles, the film suggests that every cynical middle-aged widow in O’Connor’s two short story anthologies is Regina, her mother. This is simplistic and such a distraction finds the reader occupying the surface of O’Connor’s fiction rather than plumbing its depth. I have never met any of Flannery’s contemporaries—and over the years I sought out as many of them as I could—who suggested that Regina was in the stories, nor O’Connor for that matter. On the contrary, the most frequent memories were of Flannery’s faith and friendships, while Regina was remembered for her loving care for Flannery, the support of her writing, and the close companionship between mother and daughter. 

O’Connor provides the best response to all of this when she chides Erik Lankjaer for supposing he was the inspiration for Manley Pointer, the sham Bible salesman in “Good Country People.” She explains to him her concept of “properties,” by which she means that she takes those elements of her experience and surroundings that lend authenticity to her fiction. Her characters are “Everyman,” in his fallen state, in need of grace and self-knowledge. That is also why O’Connor resisted those who tried to label her as a “regional writer” because that might narrow the universality of her work. She explains to Lankjaer,

I am highly taken with the thought of your seeing yourself as the Bible salesman. Dear boy, remove this delusion from your head at once. And if you think the story is also my spiritual autobiography, remove that one too. … Your contribution to it was largely in the matter of properties. Never let it be said I don’t make the most of experience and information no matter how meager. 

Intriguing is the final enactment of “Good Country People,” O’Connor’s most philosophic short story, an apt choice for a climactic ending to the film. The soundtrack behind the episode is artfully unsettling, as it should be, given the impending degradation of the protagonist. But the space allotted is inadequate to capture the nuance and depth of the story. One wishes there were more. This episode, and the portrayal of “Everything That Rises Must Converge,” in which the physically delicate Maya Hawkes plays a young man with her hair barely tucked under a hat, seem to be the actress’ least effective efforts.

O’Connor wrote to Betty Hester, “All my stories are about the action of grace on a character who is not very willing to support it but most people think of these stories as hard, hopeless, brutal, etc.” She supplemented this explanation when she said that her stories were about the “operation of grace in territory previously occupied by the devil.” As noted, the Hawkes seem to understand this, but the confines of the screen and the amalgam of stories intertwined with O’Connor’s mundane life don’t allow sufficient space for the development of grace. Granted, all of this is difficult to portray, and the Hawkes may have met the challenge as well as can be expected.

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This followed regional elections in May of 2023, in which the Conservative Party, “Partido Popular (PP),” made unexpected and dramatic gains in most of Spain’s 17 autonomous communities. Given that Spanish regional elections are usually harbingers of the national elections that follow, the country’s dashing, photogenic prime minister Pedro Sánchez Pérez-Castejón of the country’s socialist party (PSOE) decided not to wait until December when the general election was scheduled. Instead, he called for a snap election that was held on July 23. His goal was to limit the damage for his party; in addition, Europe was closely watching to see if Spain might take a hard populist right turn as has been the case for—in one way or another—Finland, Italy, Germany, Poland, Hungary, and France.

Sánchez was criticized for calling elections at such a hot time in Spain; many Spaniards, moreover, had already left early for their August vacation. Nonetheless, the stakes were high so turnout was around 70%—even if some voters went to the polls dressed for the beach. One precinct reported a voter arriving in scuba gear. 

Sánchez’s opponent was Alberto Núñez Feijóo of the PP who hails from the northwest autonomous community of Galicia, having as its capital Santiago de Compostela. He is a political moderate and a competent manager, though he lacks Sánchez’s charisma. The conservatives were expected to win a convincing majority in Spain’s parliament, the Congreso de Deputados.

Instead, they imploded. Spanish politics are complicated so this takes a bit of explaining. 

Sánchez’s strategy worked far better than he expected. Although PP bested PSOE in the popular vote, it fell short of the support necessary from minor parties to reach a 176 majority in the 350-seat parliaments; PSOE has a much better chance of forming a new government and holding on to power. 

Spain’s minor parties fall into two categories: ideological and regional. The largest minor parties are the ideological “Sumar” (“to bring together”) on the hard left, and “Vox” (“Voice”) on the right. The biggest loser, Vox, on whom the PP depends for support, lost no less than 19 parliamentary seats from the 2019 national election. 

Other minor parties include two regional parties from Catalonia (Junts and ERC), and two from the Basque Country, (PNV and EH Bildu). The smaller regional parties are BNG (Galicia), UPN (Navarre), and CC (Canary Islands).

Here is a breakdown of Spain’s parties and the parliamentary seats each party now controls:

Spain’s current ideological parties can only be understood in light of the Los Indignados movement in 2011, when the shift to a multi-party system began. Los Indigados means “the indignant ones.” They are mostly young citizens who think the prevailing political parties no longer serve them, so they chant “no nos representan”—they don’t represent us. I happened to be at the University of Santiago de Compostela in 2011 when a colleague invited me to take a walk to the city’s Plaza Mayor. There we encountered several dozen tents whose occupants were haphazardly arranged in various groups, sitting akimbo and earnestly discussing politics.

Los Indignados inspired “Occupy Wall Street” but whereas the American episode produced little more than fresh fodder for comedian Stephen Colbert, Los Indignados provoked a change in Spain’s political landscape, so much so that Spain has not had a majority government since 2015. The movement first gave a big boost to the Spanish left, spawning a new Marxist party, “Podemos” (“We Can”). Several of the leaders are students of Italian Marxist theorist Antonio Gramsci and admirers of the late Hugo Chavez of Venezuela. Podemos, in turn, provoked a new right-wing party, “Vox” (Voice), which received the third most votes in the recent election. Podemos, though, had a short life, as it performed poorly in the regional elections in May 2023 and suffered from instability in the party’s leadership. Thus it appeared that the Spanish left was on the wane.

An interesting thing happened, however, on the way to the elections. After the regional elections, dynamic politician Yolanda Diaz, raised in a staunchly communist household, created a new political platform, Sumar. After Sanchez called the snap elections, Diaz took Sumar to the next step, making Sumar a political party rather than just a platform, absorbing Podemos as well as several small leftist parties. Consequently, PSOE cannot form a coalition without Sumar, and PP cannot without Vox.

With respect to the regional parties, the important ones come from the Basque autonomous community and from the Catalonia autonomous community. Each region, moreover, has two notable parties. In the Basque region, leftist EH Bildu (Euskal Herria Bildu) is the successor to Herri Batasuna, which was the political face of ETA, the terrorist organization in the Basque Country. Their relationship was analogous to the erstwhile partnership of Sein Fein and the IRA. Like the IRA, ETA has grown weary of assassinations, kidnapping, and blackmail—after all, violence is hard work.

Herri Batasuna, however, was outlawed so that the more radical Basques moved the vegetables around the plate and formed EH Bildu, whose membership includes many former members of Herri Batasuna. The other Basque political party with a national presence is PNV (Partido Nacionalista Vasco) whose heritage is conservative and Catholic. This party has heretofore been willing to support PP, but in this election, has been put off by Feijóo’s rhetoric. The two Basque parties together control a total of 13 seats in the Congreso.

The Catalan parties are the most controversial and the most critical in achieving a majority in the Congress. The leader of Junts, Carles Puigdemont, fled the country when the government began rounding up those who staged the illegal referendum for independence in 2017. Junts has struck a hard bargain for their support for PSOE. They demanded another (unconstitutional) referendum on independence as well as (an unconstitutional) amnesty for those who spearheaded the referendum. 

Thus, as conservative and liberal Spanish newspapers alike ruefully note, the fate of Spain’s government led by PSOE depends on successful negotiations with a fugitive from justice who wants to dismember the country. More generally, the two major parties that occupy the left-of-center and right-of-center moderate ground, representing the majority of Spaniards, cannot govern without a policy of constant appeasement to the most extreme elements in Spanish politics. 

So, why did things go so unexpectedly wrong for the conservative Partido Popular in the July elections? The primary reason has to do with PP’s alliance with Vox. 

Sanchez’s most effective strategy was to tie the PP under Feijóo’s leadership to Vox at every opportunity, especially in the only debate between the two candidates. This has put Feijóo between a rock and a hard place, or, as the Spanish prefer, between the sword and the wall. Sanchez knew, as everyone else knew, that PP would not be able to govern without Vox. At the same time, Feijóo had to disassociate himself from Vox as much as possible but with a wink and a nod, hoping to retain Vox’s support. 

Some of Feijóo’s supporters unwisely employed the slogan “Que te vote Txapote, Sanchez.” It means, in effect, “Let Txapote vote for you, Sanchez, because we will not.” “Txapote” is the alias of a Basque terrorist convicted of murder but now associated with EH Bildu. It counts among its membership a number of former terrorists, including those convicted of murder—but who have now completed their sentences. The slogan, however, backfired as it proved so offensive to families of ETA victims, that the Spanish electoral commission prohibited those with Txapote t-shirts from voting until they changed. In their debate, Sánchez asked Feijóo to disavow the slogan but Feijóo was evasive. 

Vox’s leader, Santiago Abascal, made no effort to disguise his intentions, for example, when the party put up a campaign banner in Madrid showing a hand dropping waste in a trash can. The pieces of waste are labeled, variously, “EU,” “feminismo,” and “LGBTQ+.” A Vox official callously declared that domestic violence no longer exists in Spain, but all know that “machismo” still lurks behind closed doors. Sometimes it is public: even the women’s national soccer team was bullied. At the conclusion of Spain’s remarkable women’s World Cup Soccer win on Sunday, August 20, Luis Rubiales, the President of the Royal Spanish Football Federation, forcibly kissed top scorer Jenni Hermoso (in front of the Queen and her youngest daughter, no less) and then followed Hermoso into the locker room “joking” about marrying her. 

He later “apologized” but protested that he only did what was “natural.” Rubiales is now out of a job, but, on August 28, his mother barricaded herself in the “Church of the Divine Pastor” outside of Granada, declaring a hunger strike until those “persecuting” her son leave him alone. 

You really can’t make this stuff up.

Although hesitant about unrestrained trans rights, Spaniards are generally libertarian about gay rights. Notably, four of the leading players on the soccer team are lesbian. In respect to the EU, most Spaniards are not eurosceptic, given that European Union largesse, among other things, has transformed Spain’s infrastructure and restored many of its historical landmarks.

Feijóo is not as skillful on the stump as Sánchez. In what may have been semantic confusion, Feijóo accused Yolanda Diaz of “massaging” unemployment figures in Spain. One of the words for massage in Spanish is “maquillar” which also means to put on make-up. So, when Feijóo said that Diaz “maquillaje sabe mucho”—“knows a lot about massaging,” or, “knows a lot about make-up”—Diaz seized the opportunity to tie Feijóo to the anti-feminism of Vox. Whether he was guilty of a sexist remark is not clear—at best it was maladroit. 

After the election, the king of Spain, Felipe VI, also found himself between the sword and the wall. He would prefer to ask Feijóo to form a government but that would seem ill-advised because PP probably cannot do so, notwithstanding the popular vote. He would rather not ask PSOE because certain elements in its coalition are anti-monarchical. On Tuesday, August 22, nonetheless, the king made a Solomonic decision and asked Feijóo to form a government because it was “customary” to first ask the party with the most popular votes. Feijóo has until September 26 to do the impossible; absent a PP miracle, Sánchez will then have his chance.

In the meantime, the PSOE was able to gain support from the Catalonians to get their pick for President of the Congreso (compared to the U.S. Speaker of the House) who immediately showed her thanks by declaring that, in addition to Spanish, the constitutionally recognized Catalan, Gallego, and Basque languages will now be spoken (and translated) in the Congreso. Sánchez has already made a token gesture asking the same from Brussels—in addition to the already 24 official European Union languages. 

What are the implications of the 2023 election for Spain and beyond? Spaniards are often noted for their good sense (“buen sentido”), a quality perhaps acquired from life in the extremes during the fratricidal Spanish Civil War (1936–39) and the ruthless Franco years (1939–75); the majority thus now lean toward moderation in politics. In the May regional elections, they punished PSOE for its association with the far left, especially Podemos. In the July national elections, many feared that PP would cater to Vox. 

If Spain is a bellwether, even beyond Europe, then, the election suggests that those who run to the far left or the far right may leave voters disenchanted if not disgusted. The Spanish election also suggests that no electoral system is perfect. Those in the U.S. who decry the Electoral College because of the occasional incongruity between electoral votes and popular votes might note that the same may occur in parliamentary governments and, worse, may create a kind of political paralysis that does not occur in the U.S. As Hamilton suggested, the Electoral College may not be “perfect,” but “it is at least excellent.” (Federalist Paper #68). 

Assuming he fails in forming a government, Feijóo will not be the face of the PP much longer. The only hope for Vox’s long-term survival is to moderate and absorb itself into the Partido Popular. Sánchez is said to have nine political lives: he will be around for a while, but if he fails to wrangle a majority, expect new elections this December. 

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The constitutional monarchy has proven resilient, enduring several challenges that might have ruined another country. At present, however, Spain is embroiled in a political crisis over its judiciary: to the country’s embarrassment, a recent European Union survey ranked it 22nd out of 27 countries in the confidence citizens had in the judiciary’s independence. A European report warns that “the rule of law is in retreat” in Spain. All of this may hold lessons for the United States, given its own unfortunate judicial polemics.

A look at several critical historical moments throws light on the present crisis. The most dramatic incident occurred in 1981. With 200 armed soldiers at his back, Lieutenant-Colonel Antonio Tejero burst into Spain’s elegant parliament building, wearing the iconic three-cornered hat of the Spanish Guardia Civil. The invasion occurred during a roll call vote for the parliamentary president, and the perpetrators began firing automatic weapons in an attempted military coup. Because of the importance of the vote, the proceedings were broadcast live on Spain’s SER radio channel, and the first thirty minutes of the coup were videotaped. 

King Juan Carlos I became a national hero once again when he demanded that the military lay down their arms, dispelling any illusions that he would support the coup. The aggression was diffused within 24 hours. Although the Spanish government repaired the stained glass windows, they wisely did not plaster over the bullet holes in the walls, which still remain. 

In 1996, Spain seamlessly underwent her first formal transfer of power when José Maria Aznar’s conservative Partido Popular (“People’s Party” or PP) gained a majority over Felipe Gonzalez’s leftist Partido Socialista de Obreros de España (“Spanish Socialist Workers Party,” or PSOE). I was in Madrid at the time staying just a few blocks from the proceedings and watched it on television with a small crowd. The transition was gracious and good-humored, and undoubtedly buoyed the country’s hopes for the future. This goodwill has dissipated, hence the growing political tension surrounding the judiciary.

Juan Carlos captured the imagination of the country yet again when, at an Ibero-American Summit in 2017, the boorish Hugo Chavez of Venezuela began calling the previous prime minister, Aznar, a “fascist,” and “less human than snakes.” The king interjected, “¿Por qué no te callas? (“Why don’t you just shut up?”) Overnight, ¿Por qué no te callas? became a nationwide meme, appearing on t-shirts, bumper stickers, and even serving as a popular answering machine message. Once as highly esteemed as Elizabeth II of England, we now unfortunately know that Juan Carlos I has feet of clay: beset by allegations of financial corruption, in 2014 he abdicated the throne to his 6’6” son Felipe VI and, in 2022, fled Spain to Abu Dhabi. Unfortunately then, there is no longer a seasoned monarch who might, by virtue of his office, personality, and reputation, provide a sentido de estado, as the Spaniards call it: a dedication to the good of the nation—a call to statesmanship. 

Through the last few decades, Spain has enjoyed a predominately two-party system, led by the PSOE and PP; at the same time, several influential regional parties also occupy seats in the national parliament, especially the ERC-Sí (Catalonia) and the PNV (The Basque Country). It’s as if there were a “Texas Party” in Austin, also holding seats in the US House of Representatives. Most recently, the populist wave across Europe has spawned the left-wing Marxist Unidas-Podemos (“United We Can”), the right-of-center Ciudanos (“Citizens”), and the farther-right Vox (“Voice”). Neither of the major parties can now govern without uneasy coalitions. 

Spain experienced its own 9/11 attack on Thursday, March 11, 2004, that was later dubbed “3/11.” This horrific incident continues to reverberate through Spain’s political landscape, even to the present day. During the morning rush hour, ten bombs ignited on four commuter trains proceeding from Alcalá de Henares, a bedroom community a few miles northwest of Madrid, as the trains pulled into Atocha, Madrid’s largest train station. Almost 200 people were killed and an estimated 1,800 were injured. Rescue workers reported hearing scores of cell phones firing off in the pockets of corpses as Madrileños tried to contact their friends and loved ones. The terrorism occurred three days before Spain’s general elections and proved fatal to the Aznar administration. 

The PP might have survived had they not so clumsily handled the affair: Aznar immediately blamed the Basque separatist group ETA, whom he loathed, only to concede shortly thereafter that the perpetrators were Islamic terrorists provoked by the Prime Minister’s support for the 2003 invasion of Iraq. Consequently, and contrary to all the polls, the PSOE regained a majority in the Congreso de Deputados, suggesting that a well-timed terrorist act can change an election. 

In 2017, the autonomous community of Catalonia, in violation of the Constitution, staged an illegal referendum calling for a declaration of independence from the rest of the country. The PP-controlled government led by Mariano Rajoy dealt with the attempt severely and several of the Catalonian leaders, including Catalonia’s President Carles Puigemont, fled the country. Others were jailed until the PSOE pardoned them just last year.

As Spain’s political party system has become more fractious, its ability to confront challenges as well as it has in the past has diminished. The present crisis has to do with the politicization of Spain’s judicial system. The European Union has put Spain in the same category as Hungary and Poland as countries in which the independence of the judiciary is either compromised or at risk. The Economist calls it the country’s “biggest institutional mess since Catalonia staged an illegal independence referendum in 2017.” A member of PSOE unhelpfully compared the PP’s role in the controversy to the attempted military coup in 1981.

Certain features of Spain’s judicial system will seem curious, even overly technical, to those accustomed to the common law tradition. Such is the case with Spain’s “General Council of the Judicial Power (CGJP), sometimes called the “Watchdog of the Judiciary.” Though many Spaniards don’t even understand its role or importance, the stakes involved in the disputes over the GCJP couldn’t be higher. 

According to Article 122 of the 1978 Constitution, it is the “governing body of the Spanish Judiciary and carries immense responsibility as it is by far the most important in appointments to the Supreme Court, the Constitutional Court and a whole host of other judicial positions both in Madrid and across the country.” 

The CGJP is not a formal part of the judicial system, but it oversees the institution and provides a protective buffer between the judicial branch and the government, the legislature, and the monarchy. Its creation was inspired by judicial entities in Italy and France, and it also has antecedents in mid-nineteenth and early twentieth-century Spain.

The monarchy, the Senado, and the Congreso share in the appointments to the CGJP, but it is the super-majority required in the legislature—a 3/5 majority—that is decisive, and therein is the deadlock. In previous years, this has been easier because of the two major parties’ unavoidable obligation to cooperate, but now the multiplication of Spain’s political parties renders this much more difficult. 

Accordingly, a mechanism designed to protect the judiciary from politics now ironically generates more political friction. Consequently, the terms of several judges on the Constitutional Court have expired and the tenure of several members of the CGPJ is technically over, but they have continued to serve on expired mandates in a kind of “caretaker” role. 

Despite occasional agreements, the PSOE and the PP are increasingly hostile from one to the other. For their part, the regional parties, ERC-Sí and PNV are narrowly concerned with gaining more autonomy for their respective regions. The new ideological parties, Podemos, Vox—and to a lesser extent Ciudanos—are usually only focused on one or two hot-button issues that do little to unite the country. For them, to compromise on these issues is heresy. These minor parties revel in “punching above their weight” and so to get what they want they essentially blackmail the larger parties by refusing to provide the support needed for workable coalitions.

To add fuel to the fire, the PSOE has tried to push through legislation that gives the Congreso the power to appoint members of the CGPJ by a simple majority, meaning they could “pack the court.” Even worse, in a clumsy display of opportunism the PSOE added a provision that diminishes the crime of sedition as a favor to the Catalans, given that sedition was the most serious violation in the 2017 referendum. The PP, however, appealed the PSOE law straight to the Constitutional Court itself, presently with a slim conservative majority, who peremptorily—and cleverly—held that the proposed legislation is unconstitutional because it combines two unrelated issues. For their part, Spanish progressives argue that, over the last few decades, the PP has used its moments in power to manipulate the CGPJ, making it less democratic and more conservative. 

In October 2022, the PSOE and the PP agreed on a stopgap measure that fills the vacancies in the Constitutional Court but does so by bypassing the CGPJ. Key to this agreement has been the statesmanlike demeanor of PP’s present leader, the moderate Alberto Núñez Feijóo, who replaced the brash, 41-year-old Pablo Casado. Now, all the talk is of an urgent need for a renovación of the CGPJ, but what a renovated CGPJ would look like is uncertain, nor is it clear whether the changes would diminish the independence of Spain’s judiciary.

The pressure is on. Hundreds of judicial positions around the country are vacant, waiting on action by the CGPJ. Questions regarding the legitimacy of the CGPJ are becoming increasingly urgent, especially as several new high-profile laws are in the headlines and are en route to appeals to Spain’s highest courts. One is “solo sí es sí” (“only yes means yes”) which is designed to protect the “sexual liberty of women.” The objective is laudable but the difficulty has come with its application. Already it is inadvertently lowering the sentences of some convicted sexual criminals as well as raising questions about the due process of the accused. Another law, successfully pushed by Spain’s “Minister of Equality,” the Podemos-affiliated Irene Montero, allows children as young as 14 to announce a change of gender with no medical analysis at all. Both of these laws will be appealed to the highest courts.

In addition, in July 2023, the presidency of the Council of the European Union will pass from Sweden to Spain. Although the six-month rotating presidency is equal parts symbolic, ceremonial, and substantive, it will be a considerable embarrassment for Spain if it does not have its judicial house in order, and it will undercut any influence Spain hopes to exercise during its tenure. All of this is transpiring in the face of impending local, regional, and national elections in 2023. At this point, PP is projected to win, but nothing is certain at the moment.

One Spanish commentator fretted over what she described as the increasing political polarization in Spain, and the fear that Spain might suffer the same kind of turmoil currently on display in the United States. She observed, with Spain’s civil war in mind, “We do not handle drama well.” A political scientist at Carlos III University in Madrid fears the worst, namely that, “Polarization is damaging the democracy in Spain as is happening in the US.” A colleague of mine in Pamplona darkly laments that Spain has deteriorated into a “partocracy,” in which political parties rule, rather than a democracy, in which the people rule.

He places the ultimate blame, however, on the voters. “If voters act like children,” he says, “they will elect clowns.” We can only hope that leaders with a sentido de estado will emerge in Spain. If not, in the not-too-distant future, Spain’s remarkable success may only be a memory. 

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One of the fascinating rewards of reading Tolkien’s fiction is that he employs fantasy as a way of explaining reality, enlisting non-human characters to provide insight into what is truly human. In this case, Tolkien offers no quick solutions to cancel culture, but he does explain that such behavior is enabled by a lack of appreciation for the human condition, a judgmental intolerance toward others—without applying the same standards toward oneself—and a refusal to exercise mercy toward the shortcoming of others.

In September of 1963, Tolkien responded to a reader who had asked, in respect to Lord of the Rings, if Frodo was a failure because, in the last moments of his heroic quest, the hobbit refuses to cast the One Ring into the fires of Mordor. Rather, in a desperate reversal, he claims it as his own rightful possession. Fortunately for Middle Earth, Gollum intervenes one last time: he attacks Frodo and bites off his finger to recapture the ring. Unfortunately for Gollum, he loses his balance in the melee so that both creature and ring are consumed in the fires of Mordor. Ring destroyed, and quest completed, even if Frodo faltered in the end.      

Tolkien notes that Frodo’s attachment had grown so that he was “incapable of voluntarily destroying the ring.” The author concedes that “Frodo indeed ‘failed’ as a hero, as conceived by simple minds: he did not endure to the end; he gave in, ratted.” The key here is to understand what Tolkien means by “simple minds,” which is not meant to be derogatory. Tolkien explains that a simple-minded moral judgment involves a “twofold” weakness: a lack of understanding of the complexity of any given situation in which “an absolute ideal is enmeshed”; and, an insufficient appreciation of “that strange element in the world that we call ‘Pity or Mercy.’”  

The first shortcoming has to do with an inability or unwillingness to acknowledge that though ideals are essential for moral growth, human beings fall short of that to which they aspire. Tolkien states the obvious: an individual may hold with clarity “absolute” ideals that, however indispensable, are in the long run “unattainable.” Indeed, this is the definition of ideals: they serve as a focus, a goal, a rubric—but to conquer them requires nothing less than perfection. Tolkien then insightfully explains that individuals are thus obligated to use “two different scales of morality.” The first scale serves as a challenge to ourselves and it should be applied “without compromise,” because the “higher we challenge ourselves to achieve, the greater will be our achievement” even though we will always fall short. 

Judging others, however, is a different matter. He explains that “we must apply a scale tempered by ‘mercy’ since we know so little of another’s capabilities and circumstances.” The “force of particular circumstances” may only be known to another; and, the knowledge of the one exercising judgement is imperfect—“perhaps radically imperfect and for that reason judgement must always be tempered with mercy.” That mercy is informed by “pity,” by which Tolkien means sympathy for the brokenness and limitations of the human condition. 

Tolkien explains that the hobbit’s failure was not a “moral failure” because it became impossible for him to fully complete his quest after having carried the ring so long, enduring “months of increasing torment,” and ending up “starved and exhausted.” But in doing his best, he created a situation in which his quest could be completed. Such a circumstance reinforced the “humility” with which he had started his mission. Accordingly, in the closing chapters of the book, he enjoys the honor appropriate to his herculean effort. But even if it had been a moral failure, he deserves our mercy because of the pity we should hold for others. 

There is yet another reason why he deserves that mercy: he himself has been merciful, specifically to Gollum. Indeed, Frodo’s relationship with Gollum is carefully nuanced with considerable psychological insight. Tolkien, then, further explains that we are even more disposed to look favorably on Frodo because he had looked favorably on Gollum: his mercy towards Gollum, in a sense, earned him mercy. 

Frodo’s charity toward Gollum runs deep. Indeed, earlier in the story, Gandalf had explained to a less mature Frodo why Bilbo had not disposed of Gollum when he had the chance. Frodo first observes, “What a pity that Bilbo did not stab that vile creature, when he had the chance.” Gandalf responds, applying what Tolkien explains in his correspondence. The wizard says, “Pity? It was Pity that stayed his hand. Pity, and Mercy: not to strike without need.” 

One of the fascinating psychological insights in Tolkien’s novel has to do with the possibility that, because of Frodo’s grace and charity, Gollum might somehow make his way back to his better self, Sméagol, the name that Frodo chooses to use, even if everyone else calls him Gollum. At a critical moment, however, that possibility is disrupted by Sam, not because of malice, but because Sam does not have the luxury of thinking the best of Gollum given his own single-minded mission to support and protect “Mr. Frodo.”

This tension is evident in the chapter “The Forbidden Pool,” when Gollum unwittingly follows Frodo and Sam into Henneth Annûn, the hiding place of the Rangers of Ithilien; accordingly, Gollum is in mortal danger, though oblivious to his plight. The Forbidden Pool is a basin of water created by the waterfall that concealed one of the two entrances into Henneth Annûn. Observing Gollum from the precipice above, Faramir, the captain of the Rangers, is prepared to slay Gollum with bow and arrow:“‘Shall we shoot?’ says Faramir, turning quickly to Frodo. Frodo did not answer for a moment. ‘No!’ he said. ‘No! I beg you not to.’ 

Sam’s reaction is predictable: “If Sam had dared, he would have said ‘Yes,’ quicker and louder.” Frodo, though, has such compassion for the corrupted hobbit that he offers himself as collateral: “‘Let me go down quietly to him,’ said Frodo. ‘You may keep your bows bent, and shoot me at least, if I fail. I shall not run away.’”      

In a later scene, Tolkien deftly describes the effect Frodo’s kindness has had upon Gollum, as the creature observes Frodo and Sam sleeping:

Gollum looked at them. A strange expression passed over his lean hungry face. The gleam faded from his eyes, and they went dim and grey, old and tired. A spasm of pain seemed to twist him, and he turned away, peering back up towards the pass, shaking his head, as if engaged in some interior debate. Then he came back, and slowly putting out a trembling hand, very cautiously he touched Frodo’s knee – but almost the touch was a caress. 

Tolkien continues, describing the subtle but genuine first steps toward Gollum’s redemption as he appears more a deflated Sméagol than a malevolent Gollum:

For a fleeting moment, could one of the sleepers have seen him, they would have thought that they beheld an old weary hobbit, shrunken by the years that had carried him far beyond his time, beyond friends and kin, and the fields and streams of youth, an old starved pitiable thing.

It is a harsh and accusatory Sam, however, who interrupts Gollum and extinguishes the spark of humanity that Frodo has kindled. Though Gollum’s trust in Frodo has grown, he knows that Samwise is not his friend; rather, Sam is the “cross, rude hobbit.” But at that touch “Frodo stirred and cried out softly in his sleep, and immediately Sam was wide awake.” His suspicious, harsh assessment of Gollum’s gentle touch destroys Gollum’s fleeting opportunity for redemption. Tolkien explains that the first thing Sam saw was Gollum—“pawing at master.” 

Gollum tries to explain: “‘Nothing, nothing,’ said Gollum softly. ‘Nice Master!’” Sam, however, is unmoved: “‘I daresay,’ said Sam. ‘But where have you been to—sneaking off and sneaking back, you old villain?’ 

And that was it: “Gollum withdrew himself, and a green glint flickered under his heavy lids. Almost spider-like he looked now, crouched back on his bent limbs, with his protruding eyes.” The Sméagol moment had passed beyond recall as Gollum returns, ugly and sarcastic. Mildly chagrined, Sam offers a weak “Sorry,” though it is insufficient to restore the opportunity that Frodo’s pity and mercy had earned. Sam’s rush to judgement reawakens the dominant side of Gollum’s beastly nature. The interior debate, undertaken with the now-lost Sméagol, is gone. 

Tolkien’s explanation of mercy and pity, Frodo’s application of those virtues to Gollum/Sméagol, and Sam’s quick and easy ability to extinguish the opportunity those virtues had produced remind us of at least two passages from Scripture. The first is from the “Sermon on the Mount,” and reads, “Blessed are the merciful for they will be shown mercy”(Matt. 5:7, NIV). As Tolkien has explained, Frodo is not to be condemned for his “failure” to destroy the ring; he should be granted mercy, and that mercy is more easily given because of his merciful attitude toward Gollum. 

Sam’s easy interruption of that mercy, moreover, recalls the Proverb, “Death and Life are in the Power of the tongue: and they who love it will eat the fruit thereof” (Prov. 18:21, KJV). Sam’s understandable but destructive harshness toward Gollum demonstrates just how fragile is the human personality. The Samwise-Gollum exchange is a reminder that one encounter may have profound and lifelong consequences. Further, it is axiomatic that one uncharitable encounter is by no means neutralized by one charitable encounter. It’s not clear just what the ratio might be, but, a harsh word, gesture, or act, may not be counterweighed by ten encouraging words or gestures; the ratio may be more like 1000 to 1, or 10,000 to one. Or perhaps there is no ratio to be found; malicious behavior simply can’t be undone. The best one can hope for is that over time injuries will not be so injurious. As the adage goes, time heals, but deep wounds may never entirely be healed. Rather, no matter how distant the injury, the metaphorical broken leg may only be compensated for by a lifelong limp, and the lifelong pain may still be experienced periodically as the once-injured knee throbs in inclement weather.

Though Tolkien sublimated religion in his fiction, in his correspondence he is at times more transparent, and in this case, he explains that the elements of moral judgment and the virtues of mercy and pity ultimately find their grounding in God, in “the Divine nature.” That suggests that the extraordinary virtue of mercy is the inheritance, most importantly, of the Judeo-Christian heritage—far more so than the Greek philosophical legacy or the bequest of Enlightenment rationality. This leads to an uneasy question: if America becomes more secularized—and that process may be underway—will an empathetic appreciation of our broken, fragile nature wither away? Will the habit of mercy weaken amongst us? Is cancel culture an aberration—or a portent of cultural decline? 

Frodo’s failure renders his saga far more relevant to the rest of us than if he had, through super-hobbit effort, succeeded. If he had not faltered, there would only be cause for celebration; but, since he did fail, Tolkien teaches us how to commiserate with the shortcomings, not just of hobbits, but of human beings.

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R.E.M.’s proclamation is not “It’s the End of the World,” rather, “It’s the End of the World—As We Know It.” There is a big difference. If R.E.M.’s announcement of the “end of the world” is “apocalyptic,” it is only in the literal meaning of the word, namely, an uncovering of things little recognized—some of which may be just emerging. The end of the world is the end of an epoch and the introduction of a new era that may be troubling, but is nonetheless accepted with a confident, even joyous hope, even if its contours are only just emerging. Organizing their wide-ranging catalogue of music in this way provides some insight into the enormous appeal the band has had—and still has—for many around the globe.

For their name, the band chose at random the abbreviation for the dream-state phenomenon “rapid eye movement”; they have sold 90 million albums. In 1996 R.E.M. was granted an $80 million contract with Warner Brothers, at that time a record amount. Lead singer and lyricist Michael Stipe’s distinctive voice makes most of their songs easy to recognize. Mike Mills, on bass and keyboards, claims the inspiration of the Beach Boys, and his pitch-perfect harmonies and stirring descants and counter-melodies should make Brian Wilson smile. Peter Buck uses an open guitar style on a Rickenbacher as a kind of tribute to Roger McGuinn whose iconic 6- and 12-string Rickenbacker guitars made “The Byrds” unique. When Bill Berry’s restrained drumming is added, R.E.M.’s music is far greater than the sum of its parts. All of these musical characteristics are on display in their popular ballad “Man on the Moon” about entertainer Andy Kaufman.

The authorship of all songs was attributed to the entire band who enjoyed three decades of unusual harmony (1980-2011). The amity between, for example, Stipe and Mills, evokes the ideal of friendship Aristotle describes in the Nichomachean Ethics, palpable in this duo performance of the lovely ballad “Nightswimming,” especially as it closes. Stipe identifies as his inspirations the “punk poet laureate,” Patti Smith, and the  English group Radiohead, especially their iconic 1992 song, “Creep.”

Confronting an Unraveling World

What are the indications of this transition from a world “as we know it” to something else? None of them should be surprising, except they are artfully expressed by four precocious young men who dropped out of college and seem to have been the better for it. To begin, one social dynamic that gives rise to our present state is the sheer speed of modern life that leaves no time and energy for reflection. “Accelerate” begins on an ugly, dissonate chord that resonates before the urgent driving song erupts.

The ingenious chorus is songwriting at its best, the singer begging for an escape:

Where is the rip cord, the trapdoor, the key?
Where is the cartoon escape hatch for me?
No time to question the choices I make
I’ve got to find another direction—Accelerate!

The band also seemed to understand the weakening of reasonable discourse and the loss of religion. A colleague of mine reports that he shared an introductory philosophy class with Michael Stipe at the University of Georgia. He recounts,

When Stipe chose to attend class, he always arrived late, and perched on the back of his desk with his feet in the seat, conspicuous with his bright red dyed hair. One day he interrupted the professor asking, “Isn’t all of this just a lot of mental masturbation?”

Whether from petulance or perception, he had a point,  because he succinctly expressed as early as 1980 the self-gratifying, narcissistic, and fruitless habits of the contemporary university. Aimless philosophy, moreover, undermines moral agreement; thus, R.E.M.’s debut studio album “Murmur” (1983) includes a song with a telling title: “Moral Kiosk.” Stipe explained in an interview that he was searching for a concept that suggests an easy place where everyone can get whatever suits them: “It’s so much more attractive/Inside this moral kiosk.”

As political philosopher Allan Bloom explained in 1987, pursuing the truth in the classroom is allowed as long as no one claims to find it. How far we have come! Today students are helpfully advised that there is no truth to pursue.

It should then come as no surprise that meaningful intellectual discourse is scarce. The impulse for “Fall on Me” was the threat of acid rain but as the song developed it took on a broader meaning. The unexpected range of Stipe’s voice is on display as he complains in the second verse:

There’s the progress we have found
A way to talk around the problem
Building towered foresight
Isn’t anything at all

The chorus of “Fall on Me” is a plaintive intercession to the sky expressing the existentialist anguish of an individual in a world turning unfamiliar.

Buy the sky and sell the sky
and lift your arms up to the sky
And ask the sky and ask the sky
Don’t fall on me.

It is noteworthy that R.E.M. gained international recognition with their Grammy-winning 1991 hit “Losing My Religion.” Although Stipe has commented that the song is more general than just a loss of faith, the theological imagery in the music video, for example, St. Sebastian riddled with arrows, punctuates the song’s religious lament. R.EM., though, does not abandon the possibility of some kind of spirituality.  “Oh My Heart” opens with the possibility of a new belief reconstructed from the previous:

Kids have a new take/a new take on faith
Pick up the pieces/Get carried away

The song “Day is Done” notes the loss of confidence in a guiding benevolence because “Providence blinked, facing the sun.” Whether it is a rising or setting sun, the message is the same: providence—as previously understood and experienced—is inadequate in the epochal change underway. The song, nonetheless, is forward looking, an assumption of responsibility for the future:

The battle’s been lost, the war is not won
An addled republic, a bitter refund
…
The verdict is dire, the country’s in ruins
Providence blinked, facing the sun
Where are we left to carry on
Until the day is done
Until the day is done

This commitment is reiterated in the last verse of  “Oh, My Heart.”

Mother and father, I stand beside you
The good of this world might help see me through
This place needs me here to start.
This place is the beat of my heart.

For R.E.M., an unraveling world should be approached, not so much with grand solutions, but with individuals motivated by something we might call “constructive discontent,” a yearning for something better. The band is by no means glib about the challenges that lie ahead—there are no easy solutions. This is the message of their parody “Shiny Happy People,” in which the band is joined by Kate Pierson of the B-52s, who also hail from Athens. Shallow contrived happiness leads nowhere. Not surprisingly, although the bubble gum tune enjoyed wide appeal in pop culture, Stipe said he hated it. Guitarist Peter Buck once said that “the song is so relentlessly upbeat it makes you want to throw up.”

Confidence in the Future

R.E.M.’s “Find the River,” however, expresses a lifetime of deep unfulfilled longing. It is the last song in what is perhaps R.EM.’s most brilliant album, “Automatic For the People” (1992), which took its title from a humble Athens diner that the band would frequent. “Find the River” is beautifully written, arranged, and performed; and in a then world of mindless MTV, this particular video is artistic, sensitive, and moving. The song reflects Stipe’s penchant for obscure lyrics—often sung obscurely—but even those passages add depth and mystery to the song. Rolling Stone rightly called the song “gorgeous . . . a masterpiece.” The line “I Have Got to Find the River,” is repeated with pathos.

I have got to find the river
Bergamot and vetiver
Run through my head and fall away
Leave the road and memorize
This life that pass before my eyes
And nothing is going my way

The final verse amplifies the song’s message:

Watch the road and memorize
This life that pass before my eyes
And nothing is going my way.

The melancholy song ends on a hopeful note: “Pick up here and chase the ride/The river empties to the tide/All of this is coming your way.”

The anthem “These Days” is a  buoyant look to the future. The opening verse expresses the need for a new evaluation of priorities:  “I will rearrange your scales/ If I can, and I can” and then launches into a promising view of what is possible:

All the people gather, fly to carry each his burden
We are young despite the years
We are concern, we are hope despite the times
All of a sudden, these days
Happy throngs, take this joy wherever, wherever.

For whatever reasons, many find the idea of apocalypse fascinating and endlessly entertaining, whether in film, literature, or philosophy—it is a genre-bending theme. There are always possibilities on tap to explain the impending doom: carbon emissions, procreation, the collapse of the liberal order, capitalism, or the Second Coming. The common attitude seems to be certainty.

The thrust of R.E.M.’s music, however, is more modest: the group is uniquely, persuasively, and often gracefully, expressing what they see. They warn of no catastrophic collapses. Nor do they offer sweeping solutions, rather they express an unhesitating assumption of responsibility infused with hope. R.E.M. sees no other choice in the face of the irreversible end of an era. Their 1996 song “How The West Was Won and Where It Got Us” is unusual and moody. It is an epitaph for a world gone by in which the proverbial “canary in the mine” has died.

Canary got trapped, the uranium mine
A stroke of bad luck, now the bird has died
A marker to mark where my tears run dry
…
The story is a sad one, told many times
The story of my life in trying times
…
I made a mistake, chalked it up to design
I cracked through time, space, Godless and dry
I point my nose to the northern star,
Watch the decline from a hazy distance

In his ironically titled essay “Why I Am Not A Conservative,” F.A. Hayek offered at least two criticisms of conservatism that may be apt in this context. One, mere nostalgia is not sufficient to meet the challenges of the future. Second, what is needed is imagination and flexibility by which unyielding principles might be artfully applied in the interest of providing the leadership so sorely needed in the days ahead; conservatives should be the vanguard of progress. If Hayek is correct—or even if he isn’t—a group like R.E.M. may provide a unique perspective in their candor, their commitment, and their confident hope for the future. The end of the world as we have known it is not so much an occasion for passive mourning as it is an anticipatory “uncovering” of the future.

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Here in Georgia, we’ve been the victim of more than our share of simple-minded criticism, whether it concerns baseball, voting, or golf. The empty-headed attacks on Georgia have come from both the right and the left so anyone who thinks bipartisanship is dead, hasn’t been in the Peach State lately.

The stunning success of the Atlanta Braves in the 2021 World Series has  provided an opportunity for some to allege that Georgia is a racist state because of the fans’ “tomahawk chop.”

On another front, Delta CEO Ed Bastian joined other woke or awakening executives in attacking Georgia’s voting reforms, although none of them seem to be able to say just why, except that the changes did not reflect their company’s “values.” Bastian issued his condemnation on Wednesday, March 21, 2021, but the previous Friday he had applauded the voting changes. All this virtue signaling is confusing, to be sure.

Now a few have turned their attention to the Masters Golf Tournament held every spring on the Augusta National Golf Course. Among other complaints, Tiger Woods is the “sole black person” to have won the tournament. That much is true. He was the “sole black person” in 1997 when he set the course record, and he was the “sole black person” to win in 2001, 2002, 2005, and 2019. The Masters may have been slower to integrate than some tournaments, but integrate it has, though not by diktat, but by Woods’ brilliance on the fairway.

Former MSNBC talking head Keith Olberman has suggested that the name of the tournament was an intentional allusion to slave-owning “masters” in the South. Course designer Bobby Jones might be turning in his grave were that not such a fatuous comment. Others have insisted, with staggering ignorance, that the tournament be moved out of Augusta, which would be tantamount to moving the pyramids out of Egypt.

Such comments as those that have been aimed at Georgia are not just differences of opinion; Indeed, they are hardly opinions at all. In their utter disregard for arguments rooted in reality, such irresponsible comments violate the moral obligation to take proper care before speaking or acting.

Why do people say such witless things? Every day brings more of this mindless mischief, despite platoons of so-called “fact-checkers.” There seem to be several reasons but they all, in their way, are enabled by thoughtlessness. For one, it is fashionable. Doltish remarks, proceeding from an approved prejudice, attract attention on social media and may lead to invitations to late-night talk shows or college campuses. Secondly, some empty-headed garble is a matter of ill will. At times, the human impulse for malice seems to know no bounds. Other simple-minded comments, of course, aim to further particular political agendas.

Thoughtlessness, though, may be the most worrisome explanation of all. The thoughtless person doesn’t take the care or effort to form an opinion before speaking or acting. Aquinas explains that some people have “a contempt” for such deliberation. This helps explain why we seem to be having trouble with the truth, so much so that some warn of a “post-truth society.” For the thoughtless person, any facts—or no facts at all—will do, especially when the moral failing of thoughtlessness is combined with a related vice, impetuosity.

For Aquinas, since prudence is the preeminent virtue, anything leading to imprudence—in this case, thoughtlessness—is especially devilish, so that to be incautious or precipitant is a particularly serious moral transgression. Though it may seem relatively benign, of all the explanations for the current plague of mindless comments, thoughtlessness is of the most concern because it is the most entrenched, and because it creates a safe space for a shallow life of insipid chatter. Virtues and vices are habits—not habits like getting a latte every Monday but habits in the sense of deep patterns of behavior, not easily altered. By contrast, slander may be chic today but less trendy tomorrow. Ill will may burn out: after all, malice consumes more energy than benevolence; and, a political agenda might lose its support. But vices, in the Thomistic sense, have real staying power.

For Aquinas, and Aristotle before him, virtues and vices are acquired in several ways. Some are congenital; for example, some people seem to be naturally generous or naturally stingy. Others, though, are cultivated by moral and intellectual education. One pedagogical fad, however, “critical thinking,” is not at all what its name suggests. As often as not, it is little more than transmitting a teacher’s prejudice. The curriculum has become the pursuit of a political cause, sacrificing reflective opportunities along its trajectory. Serious literature in high schools is replaced by assorted insipid “workbooks.” You just can’t expect students to read The Brothers Karamazov, or even Crime and Punishment, notwithstanding that they once did.

Contemporary critical thinking, moreover, is often conceived of and taught as a skill. Even the most prestigious prep schools boast, “We don’t teach students what to think, we teach them how to think.” But if the ability to think well is treated as a skill rather than a dimension of character, it might as well be taught in a vocational track with other skills like carpentry or welding.

For Aristotle and Aquinas, the virtue of prudence, characterized as it is by careful deliberation and cautious behavior, presupposes that an individual understands the principles upon which practical wisdom is exercised, and those principles are only learned and experienced organically over time as the individual is immersed in a rich curriculum and a challenging environment, wherever that might best be found. Otherwise, critical thinking is little more than “cleverness,” if it is even that. In respect to moral choice, Aristotle warns, “The clever person will do anything.” For that reason, for the ancients, genuine critical thinking—a composite of intellectual virtues—cannot exist apart from a moral life.

But it gets worse: Practical wisdom requires a cautious, thorough approach to life, behavior that should bring a measure of peace—the comfort of a sincere conscience. It stands to reason then, that thoughtlessness generates restlessness, an uncomfortable state that needs to be assuaged, if not medicated, and that palliation is most easily found in amusement. It is our right to be amused, something we might call an “amusement imperative.”

In his brilliant book, Leisure, the Basis of Culture, Josef Pieper explains that the health of a culture is diagnosed by the way in which people use their free time—their “leisure” as Aristotle called it. In a thoughtless culture, though, individuals too often squander their leisure time in ways that crowd out the cultivation of habits of reflection that lead to moral and intellectual improvement. It is tempting to blame digital devices for all of this, and no doubt they contribute, but a smartphone is an aid to an informed, reflective life for many. It all has to do with the character that underlies such usage.

An education worthy of the name is an opportunity to reflect and the chance to develop a habit of deliberation so that thoughtfulness becomes a fixed dimension of one’s character. A dynamic canon of literature, music, art, philosophy, math, and science is praiseworthy because it trains the student’s sensibilities to distinguish the beautiful from the vulgar; it is worthwhile because it deals with timeless questions and explores the ways in which those questions might be resolved. All of this, however, depends on the cultivation of a lifelong habit of thoughtfulness. French statesman and philosopher Benjamin Constant observed, “In all moral things, reflection is the source of life.”

For some time now, many have come of age lacking the capacity for meaningful and due deliberation. The difficulty now is that even if education were reformed tomorrow, there still remains a generation or more who are habitually thoughtless. For that reason, we are riding out a storm whose end is not yet in sight. As the maxim goes, “bad habits die hard.” There is no vaccine for a pandemic of thoughtlessness.

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The Films: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

First, some initial elementary observations about the films seem appropriate, though I am not myself a media critic. Techera has performed a good service in drawing our attention to their anniversary. The films have weathered two decades well, and their success gave rise to no less than three sequential Jackson films on The Hobbit. The momentum has continued with Jackson’s reverent documentary on World War I, They Shall Not Grow Old (2018) and most recently the insightful and self-restrained documentary on The Beatles, Get Back (2021). 

Jackson was an unlikely choice for such a massive (8 years) and expensive ($280 million) project as LOTR. His previous directorial work was in low-budget, “splatstick” horror films that combined comedy and gore. In his first full-length film, Bad Taste (1987), Jackson himself plays the character “Derek” who is introduced hungrily spooning the grey matter from a corpse. After more horror, Jackson gained a degree of mainstream recognition with his bio-drama Heavenly Creatures (1994) based on a notorious murder in Christchurch.

Jackson’s choice of his native country, as reflexive a decision as it might have been for him, was nonetheless brilliant. The Shire was constructed on the North Island and still remains standing as a tourist attraction.  The breathtaking scenery and epic battles take place on the South Island, most notably in the “Southern Alps.” As one might imagine, the filming has given rise to a cottage industry of tour companies who pack movie fans into large four-wheel-drive vehicles and bounce along to the various film venues. Superb as well is most of the casting: it seems impossible to improve upon, for example, Ian McKellan as Gandalf, Elijah Wood as Frodo, and Liv Tyler as Arwen. Interestingly, Russell Crowe was an early candidate for Aragorn, before Viggo Mortenson assumed the role.

The notable miscast is Welshman David Wenham as Faramir. Though Wenham performs the role competently, the character calls for a stronger bearing. Faramir is the subject of the all-important chapter in the book “The Window on the West” where, in several instances, he speaks for the author. More generally, as Tolkien’s grandson Simon perceptively noted, there was too much material crowded into the Lord of the Rings films, and too little material thinly stretched to create The Hobbit trilogy. The late Christopher Tolkien, Tolkien’s son and literary executor, had no use for the films at all. 

At points, the films are simply ugly. The orcs are excessive, and far too many of them are dismembered, beheaded, impaled, and otherwise mutilated. In this, Jackson is surely betraying Tolkien’s sensibilities. Jackson seems not to know the Tolkien who once warned C.S. Lewis that the latter’s attempt to parse the mind of the demonic in The Screwtape Letters was improper. If Jackson had indulged his horror film proclivities a bit less, there would have been room to include, for example, the most fascinating character in the book, Tom Bombadil, whose exclusion irritated Tolkien devotees the most, and rightfully so. 

No Return to Kingship

Techera seems to discuss the book more than the films, although it is not always clear when Techera is writing about one or the other. It can be difficult to decipher his broad generalizations about Tolkien’s politics. He writes, “The inclusive character of the fellowship, which is Tolkien’s basic idea of politics, the one to which he devotes most of his work, is evidence of divine love of all beings that have, if I may use the old-fashioned word, souls.” 

Techera claims that Jackson learned from Tolkien “the necessity of some kind of kingship.” America, moreover, because of growing divisions among the citizenry, and growing weaknesses of citizens themselves, is in need of “something like a kingship.”

Accordingly, Jackson the director (and Tolkien the author?) believe we need to overcome “our distrust of kingship” even if we might be “sacrificing our freedom” because we as citizens “might be turning cowardly,” given the “uncertainty of the future.” Accordingly, we need someone “who can withstand the enemy” by which Techera seems to mean cultural and political threats to a decent life. Moreover, it “goes without saying that a certain political wisdom is required of a king.” Techera insists, though, that when Jackson pursued this intent through the films, “we simply ignored what Jackson was showing us when it became uncomfortable, because at the time we thought we had the luxury to do so.” 

It is a misinterpretation of Tolkien’s work to assume that either Tolkien or Jackson advocated some monarchical political solution. After all, the heroes in the books are hobbits. If anything, Jackson seems to interpret Tolkien correctly in suggesting that a rejuvenation of the middle class is essential if we are to meet the challenges of our time. To be sure, Tolkien, rooted as he was in Aristotle and St. Thomas, appreciated the practical virtues of a monarchy, but he was by no means a monarchist.

It may seem that Tolkien promotes monarchy, given that the last third of the trilogy is entitled “Return of the King.” It is essential to note though that Aragorn’s coronation is not the culmination of the trilogy; rather, the destruction of the One Ring is the story’s climax. Aragorn doesn’t save the world. Depriving Sauron of his source of power is the political salvation of Middle Earth, and the heroic, self-sacrificial act of the Hobbits enables Aragorn’s reign. Aragorn’s elevation to his hereditary position is given precious little space in the book; it is confined to only eleven or twelve pages of the chapter “The Steward and the King,” and that includes observations on Aragorn’s actual reign.  

It is best to understand that the five chapters that follow the destruction of the One Ring, including the coronation, constitute a kind of epilogue to the saga. More to the point, Aragorn fades into the background after the brief royal ceremony in Chapter 5 of the final section. He appears only briefly in Chapter 6 (“Many Partings”) and then disappears entirely in the final three chapters of the epic, as the attention turns back to the hobbits.

Tolkien was self-consciously writing in the tradition of sagas in which the plot trajectory often leads to the victory of the hero, and the restoration of some fallen household. Those events would take place in a medieval context of some sort. It is a mistake to take Aragorn’s rule as a promotion of a monarchy which would apply to any political setting. It is especially problematic to apply that to the United States, which never had medieval kingdoms like those of European countries. Tolkien explained in no uncertain terms that his work should never be taken as analogy; rather, he wrote a myth. For him, this meant that the reader might identify principles and consider their applicability. Tolkien was critical of C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia precisely because it is an unabashed analogy. Tolkien warned that although the series might have appeal to Christians it would have limited appeal beyond that audience, and in this, Tolkien was exactly right.

Democracy and Other Bad Forms of Government

To be sure, Tolkien’s view of democracy is finely layered. The Shire does represent a kind of primitive democracy, almost an anarchy. Tolkien admitted late in life–after serving in the infantry in WWI, anxiously seeing his son fly for the Royal Air Forces in WWII, witnessing the devastation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and watching the rise of communism–that he had almost become an anarchist. He had seen the destructive potential of governments of all kinds. Understanding this, we see how odd it is to say that the Shire constitutes “as much democracy as possible,” whatever that might mean exactly. Tolkien identified personally with the Hobbits, but at the same time acknowledged the historical frailty of democracy, as well as the destructive tendencies of a self-governing people.

Techera asserts that because of Jackson’s “democratization” of the Lord of the Rings,  the director declined to “introduce Americans to the glories of old world aristocracy.” All this was done to “please his audience.” As evidence, Techera complains that, among other things, there is “too much joking around and too much self-doubt and too much ignorance in his vision of the fellowship, which conceals entirely—from an audience too willing to be deceived—the fact that they are beholding princes and kings, not their childhood best friends and crushes.” 

It is true that Tolkien had an Aristotelian respect for aristocracy. He was by no means an egalitarian, recognizing the natural, theoretical, and practical limits of equality. This is especially evident in the chapter “The Council of Elrond” in which the best and the brightest of Middle Earth convene to craft a plan to save their world. Although many chapters are omitted from Jackson’s film, this one is featured prominently—and beautifully—in the cinematic version. 

Jackson also adds a scene not found in the text when Arwen comes to Frodo’s rescue from the Ringwraiths at the Fords of Bruinen, and then apparently transports him to Rivendell where he can recuperate. In this, Jackson enhances Arwen’s status beyond what Tolkien wrote, thus capturing and promoting her aristocratic status. Jackson even has Arwen speak of her “grace”—again extra-textual—which she dispenses on Frodo’s behalf, when she says “What Grace is given me, let it pass to him.” That phrase unavoidably evokes the individual who would have been to Tolkien the best of women, if not all human beings: the Virgin Mary, who Scripture describes as “full of grace” (Lk. 1-28). In this, whether intentionally or not, Jackson meets Tolkien’s aristocracy and raises it.

Techera’s judgment that the moviegoers were “willing to be deceived” may be a shrewd analysis of group psychology, but it is not clear how he arrives at that diagnosis. Perhaps moviegoers left the theater reminiscing about high school romances. Perhaps they were simply enjoying the afterglow of the movies themselves. Is there any way to know? It is true that Christopher Tolkien thought Jackson had vulgarized his father’s book. Perhaps this is what Techera means by “democratization,” but even so, the assumptions he draws from that complaint are unwarranted.

Techera would have done well to avail himself of Tolkien scholarship. Perhaps he has, but it is not evident. To be sure, there is relatively little secondary literature dealing with the elements of Tolkien’s political philosophy. In 2003, Ignatius Press reprinted Richard Purtill’s penetrating analysis J.R.R. Tolkien: Myth, Morality, and Religion. Purtill demonstrates that one of the central themes of LOTR is the character development of certain of the book’s personalities. The best book available by far is J.R.R. Tolkien’s Sanctifying Grace (2002) by Brad Birzer, which provides a broad, balanced, and interdisciplinary guide to what Tolkien was about. A notable investigation of Tolkien’s religious ideas is The Gospel According to Tolkien: Visions of the Kingdom in Middle-earth(2003) by acclaimed O’Connor scholar Ralph Wood—though Wood may push the Christian analogy too far for some. Tolkien’s countryman Stratford Caldecott’s elegant Secret Fire: The Spiritual Vision of J.R.R. Tolkien(2003) has been published in the U.S. with the title The Power of the Ring: The Spiritual Vision Behind the Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit (2012). Caldecott’s is the most thoroughgoing discussion of the influence of Tolkien’s Catholicism on his work. It was the late Caldecott who, one memorable afternoon in Oxford over tea, opened my eyes to the depth of Tolkien’s work. All these works are accessible to the curious layperson, and of keen interest to the academic.

Techera also does not ground any of his claims in Tolkien’s correspondence, or in specific textual references from either book or film. He has written many fine essays; these two pieces on Tolkien’s books and Jackson’s films, however, oversimplify a complex story.

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