First published January 12, 1997
Writers constantly
search for a voice.
In the novel, "A Prayer for Owen Meany,"
John Irving has his protagonist speak oddly (in all capital letters)
and write a school newspaper column in which he becomes known
as "The Voice."
Even newspaper columnists search for a voice,
although they're not likely to make a pilgrimage of their search
as do their more literary colleagues.
A columnist is more likely to develop a style.
A comic style, for example, marks the work of Dave Barry, Art
Buchwald, the late Erma Bombeck or Mike Royko. A more serious
tone marks the columns of Jack Anderson, David Broder, William
F. Buckley, Ellen Goodman, and George F. Will.
As the New Year begins, I find myself wondering
about the "voice" I bring to this column. Forgive my
self-indulgence, but in searching for my voice, I've determined
that I draw on four questions and one overriding principle.
Learning from being an Episcopalian, my overriding
principle is best expressed in a prayer taken from The Book
of Common Prayer that goes like this:
Almighty God, you proclaim your truth in every age by many
voices: Direct, in our time, we pray, those who speak where many
listen and write what many read; that they may do their part in
making the heart of this people wise, its mind sound, and its
will righteous; . . .
I may be presumptuous to suggest my writing influences public
opinion or that I write what many read, but I consider the fraction
who read my column to be a significant audience.
Furthermore,
I take seriously my part "in making the heart of this people
wise, its mind sound, and its will righteous." I seek the
same application to myself as husband, father, friend and editor.
The four questions I constantly ask are usually
asked by philosophers. Any discussion in a newspaper column risks
frightening away most readers.
Undaunted, and knowing that columnists often
tread where wiser minds would pussyfoot, I offer these guiding
questions:
Human knowing is a deep and abiding problem.
Will Rogers used to say ``I know only what I read in the papers,''
but knowing goes much deeper than that.
In fact, it's one of the most important questions
a newsgatherer can ask of any source. Philosophers call this the
epistemological question.
I had a wise philosophy teacher once who taught
that in debate one's task is ``to render your opponent epistemologically
self-conscious.'' A worthy goal, I think, for a columnist as well.
How does the weatherman know it will rain tomorrow?
How does the economist know that unemployment will continue to
climb next month? How does Bill Clinton know that his version
of democracy is superior to Francois Mitterrand's? Or Boris Yeltsin's?
Or Bob Dole's?
It's been said that in their ideologies Republicans
believe humans are basically greedy and evil, and Democrats believe
humans are basically decent and loving. Despite being rash generalizations
-- I've known some loving Republicans and some greedy Democrats
-- these statements express a view of being human.
We all carry
an implicit view of humanity. Some think people are animals, not
much different than dogs or cats; some think humans are minor
gods, a little lower than the angels.
Sigmund Freud's vision of human existence is
180 degrees from the view of Abraham Maslow, and Pope John Paul
II's vision is 90 degrees away from both Freud's and Maslow's.
In philosophy, the study of reality falls under
the topic of metaphysics.
A belief in God expresses a metaphysic. So
does a disbelief in God. A belief in a meaningful universe expresses
a metaphysic. So does a belief in a chaotic or random universe.
What's important to me as a newspaper writer
and to readers is to recognize that whether we acknowledge it
or not, every one of us has in him or her some belief about reality.
Even Dave Barry and Art Buchwald, who sometimes
seem above (or is it below?) all of this, work from a metaphysical
viewpoint. Barry might suggest metaphysics is something done in
a gym or workout center, but it's done in his brain.
Humans are not
the biggest, the strongest, the fastest, the most versatile, or
the most intricate creatures in the world, but there is something
special about us.
Some think it's our brain. Others say it's
our voices. Still others think it's our ability to manufacture,
especially tools. Some argue it's our invention and use of time.
Some think it's our ability to laugh and smile. Others think it's
our opposeable finger, the thumb. Many think it's our recording
of history that sets us apart. Still others think it's our souls.
Years ago, philosopher-psychologist Erwin Strauss
wrote a fascinating article that did little more than describe
and reflect upon the upright posture of humans and what this ability
to stand on our own two feet means to our existence.
Wisdom. Humor. Vision. Compassion. Fear. Hatred.
Folly. Greed. Deceit. Blindness. Anger. Absurdity. Violence. Love.
Communication. Irony. Error. Knowledge -- human possibilities
all.
As a writer,
I love these themes. They are part of being human, which is where
I seek my voice.
The questions I've posed provide fodder for
a newspaper column -- or, I might add with Charles Schulz in mind,
for a comic strip.
I mention Schulz because he seems to epitomize
for me the model of seeking to make readers' hearts wise, their
minds sound, and their wills righteous -- and always with a wry
smile.
I guess that means I find my voice in Charlie
Brown -- or in Snoopy.
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Sunday Meanderings
Allan R. Andrews can be contacted at arandrews@aol.com