These days, as I reflect on the explosive aftereffects of the incineration of copies of the Quran in a US military base in Afghanistan, I find myself re-reading chapters 1-11 of Book Two of Aristotle’s Rhetoric, where he offers his treatment of the passions (the Greek is pathē, from which we get all those “path” terms, like sympathy, empathy, apathy, pathetic, and so on). This “theory of moral sentiments” comes in the context of “a theory of rhetoric”: a reasoned discourse offering analysis and advice concerning the political use of composed speech in situations where persuasion is based on something other than “purely” rational conviction. Central to what Aristotle has to say  is that human beings experience anger on those occasions when they: (1) believe that they themselves or something that they hold dear (or, especially, most dear) has been belittled and (2) cherish a wish for revenge. The paradigmatic example is Achilles, who believing himself to have been robbed of his honor (which is what was most dear to him at that time) by Agamemnon, displays his anger precisely by predicting and praying for (and then enlisting the gods’ support for his predictive prayer) the devastation of the Greek army as a punishment to Agamemnon. This is especially exemplary in that, among other things, it shows why what we euphemistically call “collateral damage” is so endemic to “the work of anger.”

The terrible events that have followed the burning of the Qurans by insufficiently sensitive and ill trained personnel, sadly, were entirely predictable in terms of Aristotle’s account. The anger, with its destructive thirst for revenge, that a believer feels in seeing the testament burned unceremoniously as refuse is immediately understandable for someone who has taken the slightest moment to conceive of how a Muslim relates to the sacred word, and how it differs from the way in which a Christian relates to the sacred word. With just the smallest degree of education—precisely the kind of education Aristotle is trying to provide in his Rhetoric—one could see at an instant the grounds for the anger.

But wait, have I presumed too much? Have I, as Newt Gingrich recently asserted,“surrendered” by claiming that it was, in fact, an error to burn those Qurans—assuredly, in an entirely non-inflammatory and “instrumental” manner?” Am I hasty in suggesting that this is a sign of insufficient sensitivity and improper training on the part of the military and its contractors? No. And Aristotle points us to the reason why. Whoever steps into the public sphere and asks their fellow citizens—or the citizens of other lands—to listen to what they have to say about matters of public concern must have in mind what the character of those listening is like and also what kind of character they can be inspired to want to have. When our leaders uncritically respond to the inflamed and violent protests that have been going on (and make no mistake I find crimes against persons that have been committed in the aftermath of the original burning absolutely unjustified beyond any shadow of doubt), they are in effect telling us: yes, in fact, we are the people who burn Qurans with the rest of the trash, and we are going to continue being those people, and that is in no way in contradiction with our being lovers of freedom who wish to bring to the whole world the possibility of self-determination. Indeed, for some who subscribe to the “clash of civilizations” narrative, these events prove that it is precisely because we are the people who burn Qurans (in the service of removing “radicalizing materials” from a detention facility, and let’s not forget that piece of this tale) that we are the people who are on this democratizing mission.

But that, in this context, is exactly the problem. With rare exceptions (the re-emergence of Rick Santorum into the limelight has provided an instance), our political leaders, from left to right, prefer not to admit a basic fact. America is not (yet) a pluralist and universalist democracy based on ethical-humanist values. Nor is it, by any means, a secular country. Nor yet is it one “founded on Judeo-Christian” values, a hyphenated horror of a phrase I feel I have heard (well, seen) one thousand times in the past weeks. America—and forgive me, President Obama, as I know you’ve tried hard to make the opposite case—is a Christian land. It may be on its way to being something else, something more. Or it may be, actually, becoming more so a Christian land. But at this point it time, it is a Christian country.

In fact, I would claim that if it were “Judeo-Christian” (whatever that would actually mean), then this would not have happened. Why? Because to the extent that that “Judeo” part was in there, I mean was really in there, it simply would not have been possible for folks to be so deeply tone deaf to the significance of burning the word. A Jewish congregation lives in and through the Law; a community of Jewish believers without a building, without a Rabbi, without an institutional structure are all entirely possible. Without the scroll, without the Law, which is itself sacred, with highly ritualized rules for one’s conduct when holding it, or even in its vicinity, there is nothing. For Jews, as for Muslims, there is only God and only those with whom God has seen fit to work on earth, namely the prophets.

The roster may differ, but the structure and the theology remains the same. For this reason, though politically impossible at the moment, it would be much easier to imagine a Islamo-Jewish or Judeo-Islamic political community than a Judeo-Christian one. Theologically, Islam and Judaism are much closer to one another than either is to Christianity. But I digress.

The trace of the divine in the world, then, is to be found in the letter of the law, for Jews as much as Muslims. For this reason, a Jew might very well, and well we know it, burn a Quran. But never in what seems to have been the genuine ignorance at work in this instance.

Let me speak a bit more carefully. I do not know, and I suppose it is not currently known, precisely how far up the chain of command the order to burning these sacred (to some) texts went. Thus, it is irresponsible to speak about the faith traditions to which those individuals belong, or their nationalities. What I mean to address here is not the activity of the burning itself, and its causes, so much as the way that activity is understood by those in whose name it was carried out. And in this respect, I hope to have given us reason to consider the possibility that it is because the United States is a Christian country, and leads its allies in world affairs as a Christian country, that something like this “public relations disaster” could happen. If that is so, or even if it just might be so, then I think we have reason to consider the possibility that it is time for us to have some genuine religious education in the American, so that any (say) 12 year old would know what they would have been taught to believe about the sacred had they been brought up in (to begin with) each of the other Abrahamic faiths.

I have a very hard time imagining that in such a possible Christian—but self-consciously Christian—America, you would find very many 18-25 year olds who would not know that burning a Quran is for a believing Muslim very much unlike burning a “remaindered” King James Bible is for a believing Christian. And, for that reason, I find it fairly likely that in a world in which that America, rather than our current “Judeo-Christian” America, was active in world affairs, not only would Americans be better able to anticipate what makes others angry, but we might actually be able to help bring about a state of affairs where there was at least a little less anger in the world. Which would be a good thing.

The Democrats are right to be concerned over the consequences of anger. Look at Jared Loughner. Is it possible to direct anger against individuals, organizations, and groups without having that anger develop into hatred, contempt, and disgust – affective commitments that would aim to exclude the objects of anger from a role in politics or even (sometimes) from being recognized as human? Anger is a normal part of democracy, exclusion is not. The difference may lie in short- versus long-run feelings. Blame for particular outcomes need not become demands for permanent exclusion, anger need not build into hatred.

If permanent demonization is morally undesirable, can we avoid it without giving up powerful mobilizing tools? Short-run blame and anger can be used to demand structural reforms. But can the demonization let up then, when popular mobilization seems less needed? Or do we need it in order to remain watchful and suspicious, since we know that all laws can be gradually undermined by vigilant opponents?

The difference between the short-run and the long, or between specific actions and general villains, is like that between guilt and shame. People feel guilty over specific things they have done. They feel shame when they see their entire beings as unworthy. Shame can become an ongoing status of being morally unworthy. Can we focus our indignation on actions rather than on actors, by trying to attach guilt to actions instead of shame to actors? This will be easier if we are upset by a particular event than if we are reacting to an ongoing stream of activities. The financial meltdown of 2007-2008 was that kind of event, and – promisingly from an ethical viewpoint – had a number of potential villains rather than a single central villain.

Villains are powerful and malevolent. We try to portray opponents as villains to emphasize the threat they pose. (Weak opponents are clowns, objects for ridicule not fear.) Villains are more frightening, pose more of a threat, and demand more attention when they are evil through and through.  It may not be possible to craft effective political narratives without any villains. Perhaps the best we can do is to create villains out of generic categories rather than naming individuals. But even that loses some of its rhetorical punch.

Victims are weak and good, in need of intervention, in need of heroes to save them. There can be victims without villains, with only a little stretching: we speak of victims of natural forces and disasters. This kind of victim needs comfort and aid. But if victims are going to inspire new policies, or to mobilize widespread political action through a sense of urgency, they usually need villains who are threatening them. Villain-less victims require charity, not politics.

Americans see rich people, according to psychologist Susan Fiske, as powerful but not as good. They are easily crafted into villains, in true populist fashion, especially when they take the form of bankers, stock brokers, and others who do not really “work” for their money, who do not really “earn” it. But since we don’t expect bankers to be good, we are not necessarily outraged when they live up to our expectations. That is where threat comes in: they need to be doing something that directly threatens. The financial meltdown menaced everyone, in this country and around the globe (broad scope also contributes to the threat).

It is rare for Democrats to specify villains in their rhetoric. One reason is the long-running corporate campaign, reinforced by ideological economists, to portray the economy as a natural system with its own laws. Efforts to interfere with those laws backfire in unpredictable ways. You can’t blame nature the way you can humans, so markets may lead to suffering but there is little we can do to alleviate it. This vision has been central to the neoliberal project of recent years. But it has cracks, and occasionally we see individuals and corporations doing bad things to manipulate those supposedly natural markets, things that can have devastating results. These moments are the only chance the Left has of undermining the great Market Vision.

The more obvious reason that Democrats tend not to demonize the financial industries is their dependence on contributions from those same people. In this case, it may be the Democrats’ allies who need to do the demonization necessary to push legislation through Congress, especially the unions. But the unions have done this, more or less, for a long time without reaching a broader public in the way that politicians can.

There was talk, after the Giffords shooting, of ratcheting down the rhetorical tone of American politics. This might help the Democrats if it is mostly the Republicans who calm down. But the Republicans know better. Something similar happened in Israel in 1995. Binyamin Netanyahu constantly and grotesquely berated Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin as a traitor for his peace talks, until a rightwinger assassinated Rabin. The act shocked and sobered up Israeli citizens. But Netanyahu’s Likud party won a big victory only six months later. Rabin was collateral damage in Netanyahu’s electoral campaign.

**

Politicians face what I call the Naughty or Nice Dilemma: strategic players can go for short-run gains, but often at some cost to their reputations. This is worth it when the gains are important and hard to reverse later. In electoral politics, naughtiness tends to alienate voters in the center but to energize your extremist supporters. In protest movements, it tends to bring down repression by the authorities. Democrats and Republicans tend to take different approaches to this dilemma, but we cannot say which strategy is more effective in general.

Rules for being nice:

Don’t single out individuals, as occurred with Palin’s notorious cross-hair targets.

Instead use abstract categories such as bankers, international financiers, speculators, rich corporations, tax dodgers. Vague threats can be exaggerated easily to seem more urgent.

Focus on actions, not actors.

Rules for being naughty:

Find loaded terms for villains, to build them up as strong and menacing: parasites, vampires, leeches, and so on.

Question their motives: this makes them seem more threatening AND more immoral (because they are duplicitous). But if they are malevolent rather than simply misguided, more permanent constraints may be needed.

Name names: individuals give concreteness and plausibility to general positions and characterizations of groups. One villain is assumed to represent many more, lurking out there.

Name calling: go back and forth between individuals and abstract categories, as each illuminates the other.

**

For moral reasons, we may still wish to avoid this kind of demonization. But let’s not pretend that being nice is always the most effective strategy as well as the most upright one.

As we reflect upon the dramatic political developments in North Africa and the Middle East, and as we anticipate a tough political battle in the United States about the budget and the role of government, James M. Jasper, a sociologist of social movements, emotions, and strategy, reminds us in this post and in another tomorrow that politics and public debate are  not only reasoned. They also have an emotional side that must be critically understood. – Jeff

Emotions matter in politics. This is evident at home and abroad. In the last two years, we have seen American citizens shouting at their own Congressional representatives in town hall meetings, a hateful Jared Loughner attempt to assassinate his own representative, and a million Egyptians assemble in Tahrir Square and topple a repressive regime.This leads to a pressing question: What emotions matter and help mobilize political action?

A sense of threat and urgency, anger and indignation (which is morally tinged anger), sometimes a desire for revenge, and, on the positive side, hope that the dangers can be resisted – one of the most effective ways to pull these together is to find someone to blame. If there is no one to blame, collective mobilization lacks a focus. It is more likely to be the kind of cooperative endeavor we see after natural disasters: shock, but no politics. And the more concrete and vivid the perpetrators, as the case of Hosni Mubarak showed, the more focused and intense the outrage.

In such mobilization we see the “power of the negative”: negative emotions grab our attention more than positive ones. The events in Egypt and Libya suggest that the power of the negative is increased when hatred, rage, anger, and indignation are focused against one person. Most revolutionary coalitions are held together only by this outrage over the old ruler or regime. It is hard to question the mobilizing power of such feelings, whether the mobilization is for voting in elections or efforts at revolution.

But are there other ways to mobilize large numbers of people? In the US, Democrats’ electoral campaigns, and especially Obama’s, are full of reasoned arguments, based on empirical evidence, with a regard for fiscal responsibility and logical coherence. They mostly avoid nasty frontal attacks on opponents, such as the gun lobby, bankers, or other potential targets. As Dr. Phil might ask, “How’s that working for you?”

The strong Democratic showing in 2008 might reinforce our civilized sense that rational discourse, buttressed by the opinions of experts and especially economists, can prevail even in a nation where a solid third of the electorate believes in the literal truth of the Christian Bible. But did the Democrats win because of their reasoned arguments? Or because the elections occurred during one of the nation’s worst financial collapses ever? (Even eight years of the worst president in US history might not have been enough without the economic crisis.) Let’s not fool ourselves. In normal times an articulate “egghead” like Obama could not win.

2010 was a more typical election in the United States.

Since Plato and Aristotle, commentators have feared strong emotions in public debate. They have twisted their logic to defend rhetoric and democracy even while recognizing the power of emotions. They distinguish between good and bad rhetoric, thinking and feeling, or real and sham democracy. There is no way around it: democratic procedures can lead to results that no one likes – and certainly not the intellectuals who write about such things.

In the United States, Democratic politicians are rarely as cutthroat as their Republican opponents, who simply do not believe in democratic procedures as much as they believe in the substance of outcomes. For instance, Republicans continually attack the legitimacy of the judicial branch – until they need it to steal elections as in 2000. But one result of the Democrats’ decency is that they lose elections even when the majority agrees with their positions. Another downside of decency is that the Democrats lost an opportunity to use the financial meltdown of 2007-2009 to make the kind of structural reforms we desperately need. And the reason is their unwillingness to pin the blame on anyone too directly. If the Democrats could not make financiers and hedge fund managers into robust villains after the meltdown, they are simply not political beasts. They will never have a better chance to fix our financial system.

The emotional dynamics differ somewhat for voting and for protest movements. The organizational structure for the former is already there, so that a small emotional push can move people to vote: it is easy to do. Participating in a longer-term movement requires the creation of networks and organizations and communications and other infrastructure in addition to the arousal of emotions. In voting, the power of the negative helps explain the “pendulum of threat” that moves back and forth: one side wins, the other side feels threatened and mobilizes more energetically in the next election, and so on.