He will tell you,
Just as certainly as he tells himself,
That he has set out on a righteous quest of principle
To right the wrongs that plague us all.
And he sets his sights on politics
Or religion―or perhaps on both.
But after observing him but a short while,
I see already that he has a decided air
Of scorn and ridicule about him,
And seems more interested in
Camp than principle―
More in drawing up sides
And circling wagons
And labeling people friend or foe
Than in getting people to think through
The principles he thinks he espouses.
And I wonder how this helps him at all,
For I do not see that his camp is going anywhere―
Nor that it is so enlightened as not to be
In dire need of more enlightenment still.
Indeed, he seems much less at home in enlightenment
Than in this partisan rankor―
Unaccustomed, if not flat-out unable
To discuss the issues without stabbing and dividing―
As if the real problem with the hearts
Of those in the other camp were not
That their platform needs work, but merely
That they are in the other camp and not his own.
I do believe he thinks that if everyone
Were more like him,
Most of our woes would dissipate.
But even so, for every true cause he promotes,
He promotes two more that are still
Quite in need of being repaired to the very principles
He lauds in support of his one truest cause.
If his is the better camp,
It is better only slightly,
And is practically as much in need
Of wholesale reform as the others.
But his cause is just, he thinks,
And he its proper champion.
And he will not be dissuaded―
Not even for the sake of
Sharpening his own saw.
Is this not what all the camps are doing?
What, then, makes his so special?
From my observation, it seems he thinks
One of its greatest features
Is that his camp is not the other.
And I believe I have heard this same song
Being glibly sung from across the trench, too:
“We thank you, Lord, that we are not
Like those sinners over there.”
If you ask him, he will tell you
That his quest is one of principle,
But if you watch him, you’ll see him
Living as if camp were his quest,
And principle a mere excuse for it.
His scorn and ridicule are not the
Temporary vices he will apologetically
Chalk up to the fog of war when pressed,
But his default disposition,
Thriving under color of valor
They are, as it turns out,
Where his soul is most comfortable.
And he does not realize
That I see this about him,
Though he could see it himself
If he were not unwilling.
And he shows no sign that he will ever
Be willing to see―
Which signals all the more
The corruption of his heart.
For if he really loved the principles first,
He would fight for them whenever and
Wherever such were needed―
Even against his own camp,
However they may stray.
But as it is, he fights a token skirmish with his own
From time to time, as if to have some evidence
That he is indeed a purist.
And having satisfied himself thus,
He acquiesces to his camp’s corruption
More often than not.
He is much more the common man
Than he is willing to believe.
