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Eric Cherry's avatar

One of the efforts to help me in the depths of suicidal depression entailed a fair number of psychological evaluations, attempting to nail down a diagnosis that would point the way toward treatment. I was diagnosed by one clinician with Borderline Personality Disorder, which included that I have an incoherent sense of self: I do not synthesize my history into a single entity, but regard myself as the most recent instantiation of a person in a long line of similar instantiations.

One of the ways in which I am more functional than others who labor under this kind of identity diffusion is via acceptance. Who I am in any given year of my life is a short-lived self who is destined to experience ego death soon. I inherit a life from my previous self, and I bequeath a life to whomever comes next.

I don't assign overwhelming value to my current self over my past and future selves. I can't bring myself to be upset with my ancestral selves for having set me up poorly in some way, and I wouldn't dream of saddling some descendant self with obligations that serve me but not them.

If we consider a nation and analogize it to a person, we can talk about how a nation has a need to acquire and consume resources, make decisions for building a healthy home and establishing a brighter future. But we acknowledge that this analogy isn't perfect, right? It's not that the US is a person (Uncle Sam, perhaps) who needs to have a bath, eat a meal, get to bed early, etc.

But we do mythologize a nation as having a coherent sense of self over its history, as if Uncle Sam was instantiated with the signing of the Constitution and is now doddering along at 250 years of age, riddled with amendments and struggling to remember key events with clarity, harkening back to his days of youthful vigor and wondering where it all went wrong, why his back hurts, and how can anyone stand that noise kids play these days?

The reality is that nations undergo ego death often, but its people carry different myths of continuity with them. And if those whose myths are glorious were asked, "Should this nation continue?" they would be horrified to consider its death. While those whose myths are an ongoing horror show might well be bold enough to say, "Burn it down and start over."

Should the United States exist for another 250 years? Or should it go extinct, and some Post-American nation exist? Well, I guess it depends on who we think runs Post-America, what its traits are, and how it compares to the United States today. (And isn't the United States, with Trump threatening genocide, just a little sad?)

I don't have a strong attachment to myself as I am. I don't have a strong attachment to my culture, to my society, or to humanity. There are experiences that have set me up to have some antipathy, even. (So it's probably good that I'm not the one in charge of things, making decisions for everybody.)

Do I think we should be around for another 250 years? Me, as I am now? America, as it is now? Humans, as we are now? I'm not so bold as to declare we should burn it all down and start over, and certainly not by noon tomorrow. By 2030? 2050? 2100? I tell you this: if humanity hasn't figured out a way to make things substantially better for itself, the nations of the world, and the individuals living by 2126, I will consider us to have been a colossal failure, and to retroactively reconsider whether lighting a match by noon tomorrow wouldn't have been the better move. (See, this is by way of that flattening effect of slippery slops and hypotheticals: I'm drawing stark lines and coloring within them, and all the crayons are black and white.)

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