I'm tired of debating political philosophy. More precisely, I'm
tired of neglecting why it matters.
 
Within our community, we emphasize the U.S. Constitution as a
pillar in the structure of ideal society. We speak often of the
proper role of government and the dire consequences of it straying
outside of those bounds.
 
I've devoured my share of Plato and Aristotle, Rousseau and Locke,
Hamilton and Jefferson, Mill and Marx, Montesquieu and Tocqueville,
Mises and Keynes, and other foundational thinkers.
 
I've written hundreds of articles centered on the Constitution and
ideal government. Freedom is my mission.
 
But lately I've realized that I've neglected a far more important
principle than the proper role of government.
 
When I was 17 years old, I attended a week-long educational series
for youth.
 
One of my evening classes was dance instruction.
 
The first night we were asked to find a partner. As my partner and
I chatted, I saw a disabled young man asking girls to dance with
him.
 
One after another, I watched him circle the room and face rejection
after rejection after heart-wrenching rejection.
 
At the time I had no words to explain or even understand the
tornado of emotions that tore through my soul.
 
Choking and struggling for breath, I mumbled an apology to my
partner and excused myself to go out into the hall, where I
shuddered with uncontrollable sobs for several minutes.
 
Fourteen years later, I have words: Debating political philosophy
is far less important than cherishing and serving people like that
man as children of God.
 
Articles and Clauses and power charts and legislative processes are
simply means to greater ends. Unfortunately, I fear we focus far
too infrequently on these more important issues.
 
Freedom is about fatherless, shoeless, hopeless kids living in
squalor, picking through moldy dumps just to ease the ache in their
bellies.
 
Freedom is about widows, whose husbands died with guns in their
hands, cooking spoiled rice for their children through their tears
because it's all they can give.
 
It's about fathers risking it all to cross borders to send a few
dollars home and going to sleep in dirty shacks thinking of their
daughters' eyes.
 
It's about aged and handicapped people shunned to bureaucratic,
inferior facilities because the rest of us don't want to deal with
them.
 
It's about empty-eyed kids who can't think beyond ghetto boundaries
and who won't look you in the eye.
 
It's about real people with real lives and real stories. It's about
hurt feelings and lost dreams. It's about private aches in souls
who wonder if it will ever get better. It's about suffering.
 
It's about smiles and hugs at critical moments. It's about
reconciliation. It's about hope and aspirations and struggles and
achievements.
 
Constitutions may provide skeletons, but love and service and human
struggles are the heart, flesh, and blood of ideal societies.
 
If we're studying the Constitution because we enjoy political
philosophy and debating politics, we're missing the point.
 
Granted, constitutional structures are vital because they protect
these things of which I speak, but are we remembering that and
putting constitutional studies in context?
 
To borrow and rephrase the words of Yann Martel in his insightful
novel Life of Pi, we take it upon ourselves to defend the
Constitution.
 
We walk by widows deformed by leprosy begging for a few paise, walk
by children dressed in rags living in the street, and we think,
"Business as usual."
 
But if we perceive a slight against the Constitution, it is a
different story. Our faces go red, our chests heave mightily, we
sputter angry words. The degree of our indignation is astonishing.
Our resolve is frightening.
 
Yes, I've done it, too. In fact, I've spent much of my life doing
it.
 
But I'm tired of debating the proper role of government. I'd rather
live the proper role of citizens.