Thoughts From a Suburban Backyard

At the apex of civilization

It is a simply stellar summer evening as I write this from the deck behind my house in suburban utopia. Soft warm air, a light breeze, no mosquitoes as a result of a dry spring. My dog rolls in the grass like some canine lunatic, and one of the cats sits at close attention behind me, on constant alert for dangerous invaders. The garden has come alive, with daylilies and hollyhocks, clematis and roses, delphiniums and lilies ablaze from one end of the garden to the other. My blood pressure has dropped ten points just gazing on it. The small water feature babbles just enough to provide ambience, and swallows and finches flit back and forth across the yard in search of an evening meal. All in all a pretty good deal at the end of a hard work day.

I sit upon my deck chair and take it all in, brandishing the scepter and orb of the modern suburban nobleman: a fine Honduran cigar in one hand and an ice-cold martini in the other. And I ponder.

It is with unimaginable gratitude that I realize I sit atop the apex of human civilization. Right here. Right now. I have reaped the benefit of hundreds of years of work, discipline, sacrifice and heavy, heavy thought by my forebears. The chic progressive may deride this as suburban “dystopia,” man, but it brings tears of joy to my eyes to think of how blessed we are. I truly get to live better in almost every way than aristocrats of old. And I all I need to do is get up every morning, drive to work, be geeky, and all this becomes possible. This is not limited to suburban living, of course. That is just what I like best. All of us, every last American (even Michael Moore!) should spend a few minutes every day thinking about what amazing things we have been given. Thanking God for the chance to experience it for another day.

As I allow myself to settle in to the surroundings, the “big” issues of the day seem to achieve a better perspective. As I look at my gardens I realize that they have come a long way in the almost six years that we have lived here. Not because we brought in a landscaper to sculpt it all out, but because we tinkered and tweaked, planted and weeded, and slowly brought it along. There is a gardening saying that we ought to keep in mind when we talk about public policy: “The best fertilizer is the gardener’s footprints.” This is without a doubt true. In how many areas of life do we look to the quick fix, or the comprehensive solution to solve our problems? And how’s that been working out for us lately? How much better could life be if instead we focused on taking care, paying attention, and patiently striving to make things just a little bit better every day than it was the day before. That is where permanent meaningful change comes from. That’s what makes the flowers grow.

One could argue that liberalism as we know it today is the Quick Fix political philosophy. Liberalism has appropriated Protagoras’ Sophist philosophical notion that “Man is the measure of all things.” Once one accepts that premise, it is a short leap to man being the causer of all things, and from there the fixer of all things. Pretty soon there is no problem big or complex enough that it can’t be solved with the proper application of money, government paternalism and angst. Or big rock concerts on nine continents.

Incrementalism on the other hand better fits the conservative worldview. If one believes that there is a permanent order to things – and most conservatives do – then radically uprooting that order is a dangerous proposition. Much better to work on aligning ourselves, our customs, and our habits more harmoniously to the permanent things. Oddly enough, when the best way to achieve a desired end is to change ourselves, we are much less likely to do it in big radical chunks.

The placid evening rolls on, with pinpoints of flickering light showing up amidst the hostas as the fireflies begin to stir.

Along similar lines I realize that the personal is not even remotely political. Almost all of the meaningful and important things in our lives are, and ought to be, completely outside the political realm. Less intuitively, most of the things that are public ought not to be terribly political either. And few things are more tiresome than bores who insist on finding politics and ideology in places where they have no business. If you spot someone with more than three bumper stickers on his car, he’s one of the bores. It is incumbent on those of us who take politics and political philosophy seriously to apply that enthusiasm wisely. Politics is a means, not an end.

Thank goodness the world has visionaries and big thinkers. We need to have rule benders and outside-the-line wanderers. But we can’t let them define our society or take over our culture. They make lousy caretakers. That’s why Michael Moore should be confined to a Grand Rapids warehouse, and why Newt Gingrich can never be allowed to be President. Personally, I am ridiculously happy being the caretaker of my little corner of the world, trying to make it a happy and fulfilling place. And, where possible and appropriate, spreading that out to the bigger world outside my back fence. In a well ordered society that’s how most citizens should view themselves.

Enough ponderation. My stogie’s smoked out. My martini glass is dry. Time to bring down the curtain on this corner of paradise and call it a night.

‘Til next time.

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