Whatever Happened to "We the People"?

One of the most dismaying aspects of the year-long battle over health care reform, at least for me, has been the growing realization that more and more Americans are opposed -- noisily, angrily, violently opposed -- to having any of their tax dollars spent to benefit anyone but themselves.

Health care? Why should I pay someone else's doctor and hospital bills? Education? Why should I pay for someone else's kids to go to school? Housing? Why should I pay for someone else's grandparents to have a place to live?

Bottom line? If you can't afford it, you have no right to it. If you're broke, get a job. If you're poor, you deserve it.

More and more frequently, and more and more openly, I hear people saying such things. And this dismays me, not only because the ideas behind these words are ethically abominable, but also because they are un-American.

The republic created by the Constitution in 1789 was far from perfect, and we should never forget that it was created by an elite ruling class who were strongly opposed to democracy. And yet ... And yet, the preamble to that Constitution was written in the third person plural: "We the people of the United States ..." And although by "people" they may have meant free, white, property-owning males over the age of 21 ... still, they said "We."

All through the 221 years of our history since then, we have (mostly) expanded the notion of who is included in the "people" of the United States. But lately, it seems, the "we" has dropped out. Now it's "I" and "me" and especially "my" -- "my" tax-dollars, "my" freedom to do as I please, "my" right not to be offended by anyone or anything. Whatever happened to "we"?

Four of our fifty states use the word "commonwealth" in their official public documents. It's an old-fashioned word, and it describes an even more old-fashioned idea: the notion that there is even such a thing as the "common weal" -- the common welfare, the public good, the benefit of all.

But there was such a thing, or at least the idea of such a thing. It never existed, of course, and never will exist. But it has been, from time to time at least, a goal -- something we aspired to, an idea and an ideal we valued. Whatever happened to "we"?

Who Are You Calling a Judeo-Christian, Pal?

A reader of my local newspaper, in today's "Feedback" column, objected to the use of the term "Judeo-Christian roots" in a previous story. "I am a Christian," this reader wrote, "and I resent the fact that I am called a 'dash Christian.' That is a misnomer."

The editor patiently explained that, as a matter of history, Judaism and Christianity share certain basic principles that, whether one agrees with them or not, do underlie the dominant political and economic values of American life. It should not have been necessary to point out, though the editor did so as well, that the term "Judeo-Christian" was not meant to apply to the reader's personal faith.

It seems to me symptomatic of the self-centered culture we live in that the reader understood the term individually, not collectively, and asserted that "I am a Christian."

I should like to explain to the reader, perhaps not so patiently, that, as a matter of history, Christianity did arise out of Judaism; which means that if you claim to be a Christian, you are adhering to a faith that has, at least partially, a Judaic origin.

And if you are one of today's "literalist" Christians, whose religion involves nothing more than "accepting Jesus into your mind and heart," it should not be necessary to remind you that your "personal Lord and Savior," as you call him, was a Jew.