“While we talk, jealous time will fly by. Seize the day, with rather less belief in the future.” ** Forgive my literal translation of the well known “carpe diem” phrase from the “Odes of Horace.” But the underlying concept seems to me to have a contemporary relevance.
Carpe diem can mean different things to different people. In the sixties, with the prospect of the draft and Vietnam, many young men seized the moment to live life to the fullest. The future felt out of their control and even life threatening. Fear of death can be a strong motivator. Some sought solace in drugs, sex, or a pervasive agnosticism. Whereas the sixth century B.C. poet reminded us of our immortality, his dictum carpe diem can have a broader significance: it may encourage us to act in the moment without regard for the future or any reference to death. Is this not the strategy of a consumer whose purchases risk bankruptcy or an unfunded retirement? Is this not like the thinking of a person who might seek solace outside of marriage rather than attempt to mend a spousal relationship? Is this not the very strategy of an elected representative who does whatever maintains his/her power in office and the esteem of supporters rather than what serves the enduring welfare of the electorate? Maybe thIs is the real significance of the mantra to “make America great again” by fueling the capital markets at the expense of basic government services and the long-term viability of the American economy.
Living in a democracy bestows many personal freedoms: freedom of speech, free press, equality under the law, freely elected representatives, a liberal economy with unrestricted opportunity, and so on. But a liberal capitalist economy also promotes the accumulation of wealth and consumerism. Is it not obvious that unbridled capitalism and unrestrained consumerism jeopardize the personal freedoms of a democracy? If only the wealthy should gain control of the instruments of power, then most citizens will have less leverage to insure their freedoms and the welfare of their posterity. If the less wealthy are more concerned with present comforts than their future security or that of their children, then excessive consumerism will guarantee a bleak future for both. Perhaps many of us simply feel justified in living for the moment because we feel powerless to define our future. Certainly, that justification motivated many in the sixties. But not all and not now.
As in the sixties, a new citizens’ movement has emerged. That movement is not beholden to special interests, the tribal chieftains of political power, or personal rapacity. It wants to seize the day to reform the future. But nobody can assure the future or promise to make America great without some measure of sacrifice. Children do not raise themselves. Societies cannot educate its youth, provide healthcare for the infirmed, secure its citizens from harm, or provide prospects for a better future without the investments made by its members.
My fellow Americans, if we accept the bromides of political promises rather than grassroots efforts to change policies, then we will forego our only chance to determine a better future for ourselves and our children. Abigail Adams could not have foreseen Harriet Tubman. Likewise, neither could have imagined Susan B. Anthony. But the woman’s march toward equality benefited from each of these women and their sacrifices. And it continues today with the election of more women to Federal offices than at any time in American history. This outcome is the result of changes in our society—changes that promise a new political horizon.
Our Constitution is only a roadmap. Our self-proclaimed goals do not create a future we can guarantee. But we can act now to make meaningful change, to right a wrong, even to prepare for known dangers and contingencies. What we may become depends upon who we are now. And that identity is defined by what we do now. As a recent President remarked, “we are the change we seek.”
If you will permit me to redefine Horace’s “carpe diem,” I would first state that it is not possible to live in the moment. Our senses perceive reality about a tenth of a second after it happens. Even with the extended present Einstein explained in his theory of special relativity, we live for only Nano seconds in the present, well below the threshold of our sense perception. Perhaps the only time we come even close to living in the present is that moment in transcendental meditation when one may recede into an awareness of basic bodily functions, like the beating heart and breathing lungs. So, what did Horace mean? Well, the Latin word “carpe” literally means “pluck.” His reference then was more epicurean than transcendental, suggesting we should pluck the fruits of life before our time runs out. But he is intimating something much deeper—a pervasive fear we all share. We do not own our future. Our every action merely defines our history and prepares us for an undetermined future, except for that one certainty that our life’s hourglass will eventually expend its last grain of sand. As individuals then we can only assure the past we create. As Michelle Obama states in her recent book, we should own our own story. It is our personal creation. As members of society and a nation, we are also creating the American story. And the history we create right now can prepare us for a better future—or not. When former President Obama decried the moral failings of our political class with respect to gun laws, he often said, “that’s not who we are.” He was exhorting us to write a new chapter in American history by following our better instincts as morally responsible individuals. “Who we are” is defined by what we do.
If we are honest about the American history we are currently creating, we must admit that our institutions are becoming less effective at meeting our social needs, that our political leaders are more interested in maintaining their offices than serving the general welfare, and that America’s status in the world has become less a beacon of the Enlightenment than a rapacious hegemon bent on hording wealth and power exclusively for itself with less regard for its allies and the world in general.
Yes, we are still the change we seek. But that statement begs the question: what do we seek? If we pluck the rotten apple, then we rewrite the history of the Fall and assign America to a footnote in history. I believe we can do better: discard the rottenness that has pervaded our politics and act on the ideals that have defined the American spirit. Let’s seize this moment to write a new chapter in our personal history. If each of us create a better personal history and own our story, then we will become the beacon of hope for others. They too will join in recreating the American story and help prepare a more fertile ground for whatever America will yet become. Belief in a better future depends upon what we do now. How else would you define the audacity of hope?
** Dum loquimir, fugerit invida aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero. (“The Odes of Horace,” The Folio Society, London, 1987, p. 42) c