The first line of Walt Whitman’s popular poem, “Song of Myself” reveals much about the current state of the American union. He writes, “I celebrate myself, and sing myself” -- a line as simple as it is direct. The crescendo leading up to this statement, of course, is decades, even centuries long; however, for our purposes, we might simply say that the Age of Reason that largely took place in the 18th century eventually yielded to the Romantic period – that time when the focus turned from the purely intellectual to the purely emotional. We went from head to heart, and in doing so, acknowledged that other facet to being human: we feel as much as we think. Passion and expressiveness also had a place in society and should no longer to relegated, as it had been, to the unschooled, the non-European, and, yes, the fairer sex. The Romantic Movement, having come of age, so to speak, in the early 19th century, helps to explain the subsequent rise of the desire to abolish slavery and women’s suffrage. It was as if, quite suddenly, huge swaths of our fellow human beings were granted legitimacy. It did not happen overnight, but at least the fuse was lit.
Whitman was a part of this vanguard, though he was distinctly American: a member of the storied Transcendental Movement. In simple terms, this movement was a more hands-on, politically active version of Romanticism. While Wordsworth, Blake, and Coleridge scribbled down their thoughts in country houses, poets like Whitman were more hardscrabble. He was a volunteer nurse during the Civil War, and upon completion of his collection of poetry, Leaves of Grass, Whitman himself paid the printer to make a bunch of copies, believing that they would be gobbled up by parched readers, making his book, in his mind, comparable to the Bible in terms of importance. Perhaps that conviction alone speaks volumes about how he regarded himself and his work.
Astoundingly, Whitman was not entirely wrong. While not everybody has heard of the 19th century American poet, his sentiments certainly did have an impact on American culture. What do we do, after all, when we take a selfie? Are we not celebrating ourselves? Singing ourselves? Our very culture seems to be built around the idea that we should be the center of our own universe. I do not believe I am exaggerating when I say this. We are self-consumed, and as such, we have come to believe – strongly, I hasten to add – that freedom really does mean being able to do whatever you want. This is America, after all. I can do anything. I can be anything. I can assert my own “truth,” and everybody must toe that line, even if I wake up and decide that the line should be in a different spot.
This definition of freedom is certainly easy to swallow. On the surface, it seems to make the most sense. However, what this definition does not seem to take into account is the very nature of man. Christians believe in the presence of sin. Every single human being is tarnished by it, and, therefore, a savior is very much in need. Sin, let me be clear, is a disposition. An inclination. A proclivity. If you want, a constant tendency. Because of sin, our hearts will, on occasion, stray. What, then, is the common definition of freedom but a pronouncement to follow those sin impulses? Put another way, is a person truly free if they are chained to their sin? In my mind, the reality is exactly the opposite of freedom. To celebrate oneself is to celebrate a bent heart. To sing oneself is to amplify all configurations, the good and the bad. All we have to do is take one glance at human history to quickly see what humans are prone to do when squeezed by lust, greed, anger, and fear. Whitman’s proclamation was idealistic, naive, or both. But, in the end, it was his words that set the tone for a century and counting of individuals operating on a definition of freedom that completely and, in my estimation, dangerously ignores the type of creature we really are. Freedom is not doing whatever we want. That would be a river without banks, a fire without an enclosure. That would be a recipe for disaster and destruction. True freedom is knowing the reality of ourselves and keeping the negative in check. Defined and preserved banks. Defined and preserved enclosures. Dying unto the self. Keeping a humble heart. Singing the praises of the One who paid our ransom in blood.
