A few months ago, I read The Napoleon of Notting Hill by G.K. Chesterton for the first time.

Chesterton is interesting because he just says stuff, and I never have any idea whether it’s remotely correct, yet somehow it seems to fit in perfectly with the entire order of the world. Reminds me of my grandpa.

But anyway, the book (which I highly recommend—it’s my favorite of his fiction besides The Man Who Was Thursday) struck me in so many ways. It did that thing that books sometimes do, where it seems like half the questions you’ve ever asked have just been answered, the entire text is perfectly flawless, and you need to turn your life completely around immediately (and then after a few days have gone by, you realize there were probably several flaws). I could spend a whole article talking about the characters, the reflections on humor versus taking things seriously, even Chesterton’s idea of the flaws emerging in his society.

But I won’t.

I’m going to talk about another of the main themes in the book, something I’ve been looking for answers on for as long as I can remember. I’m going to talk about patriotism.

Now, last time I had to write an article about this topic, I completely forgot the clear opinion I was trying to express and ended up turning in an existential crisis on paper to my poor creative writing teacher. The thing is, especially in this day and age, the topic of patriotism generates endless questions—each with a multitude of answers that all seem to crumble under a little inspection.

I’ve been living under the simple answers told to me by people like my dad—and Chesterton—and they don’t seem that bad…but in writing my article for school, I realized there might be more to the story. Patriotism, I’ve heard many times from my father and others, is like loving your family. You have an identity as part of your country, and even though you don’t overlook its flaws, you love it and are proud of it for being yours—and for whatever special characteristics or history it exhibits.

And…I mean…that makes sense. I like that and I guess, if I had to choose, I would agree. I like the analogy of loving your country despite its flaws, whether those are many or few, as you love your family. But how far should we take this analogy?

Part of patriotism is feeling a loyalty to your country, feeling like you’re part of it, and being proud to be from it. That’s a good way to feel about your family, too, of course—with exceptions. I mean, what if they’re abusive? What if they’re…I dunno…in the mafia? Aren’t there times when a family is so bad that you need to, not abandon or hate them, but stop perceiving yourself as truly part of that family? To distance yourself from their characteristics?

I don’t know. Maybe not, but it makes sense to me. If that’s how we should think about family, is it how we should think about country too?

Then again, I’ve always felt that people who seem opposed to their country—at least, if those people are clearly coming from a good place and seeking improvement—seem to ground that opposition in patriotism. That might not make sense at first, but the more you think about it, the more you realize how possible it is that they’re people who love their country enough, who respect and value it enough, that they won’t allow it to be less than its potential.

Imagine people who fought slavery because they knew America had touched on something beautiful, who loved what it could be enough to think it was worth it to do everything they could to change the heinous practices within it. People dedicated to the ideal of the “land of the free”, dedicated enough to make that land free.

But then…I don’t know the hearts and minds of those who strove to end slavery. Perhaps they hated America for what it had done to so many innocent people. And if that was the case, they still got the job done. They still made America better.

I find it less likely, but very possible. It feels less right to me, but that’s nowhere near true evidence. When I imagine other scenarios in the “hatred camp”, it seems to make sense. 

I hated the school I used to go to (much less significant than the past example, I know). But I was—and am—passionate about making it better, fixing the flaws its system had. I did hate the school…but in another way, I didn’t. I don’t go there anymore, and yet I still want to change things…because I love many of the things I associate with that school. My own childhood, for one.

And wouldn’t that be the type of hatred a hating resident of a country would feel toward that country?

See what I mean about unanswered questions?

There’s also the question of how our loyalties should be stacked. Should they start closest to us (with ourselves) and radiate outward to our family, our city, our country, and our world? Should they start closest to us…excepting ourselves? Should they begin with our family as well as humankind in general, ignoring the stuff in the middle?

Of course, I suppose God should be our most important loyalty…which somehow makes things more complicated, because what if God prefers our country to our family or our city to the rest of the world? I doubt that makes any sense, but the existence of the Divine seems like it could provide some weird exceptions in this problem.

As if we needed more of those.

Basically, the question is (or questions are): should we feel any loyalty, love, or pride in our country? How should that loyalty/love/pride compare with the loyalty, love, and pride we feel for other groups we belong to, such as our family, our school, our subculture, or the human race? Are there exceptions to whatever rule is created by the first two questions (for example, based on the role each group plays in society, what each group values, or how intense the flaws in each group are), and what are those exceptions?

There is also, I suppose, the question of whether group loyalties make us behave better or worse to the people around us. I don’t know much about this, only what I’ve observed and what I once read in a book that sounded pretty smart.

But according to the Smart Book, being a healthy person who’s part of a healthy group actually increases care and empathy for people outside that group. Maybe because being in a group gets us used to seeing other people as valuable like ourselves. Jesus tells us that everyone is our neighbor…but sometimes it’s hard for us to understand that anyone is our neighbor. Maybe having a close, neighborly relationship with the members of a certain group teaches us to get outside our own heads enough to develop a similar view to other people.

However, not all people or groups are healthy. Anyone who’s experienced existence on this planet has probably seen how membership in certain groups can cause people to behave in horrible ways towards outsiders for no reason. Rivalries between very similar groups can lead to violence and hatred, perceptions of an “in group” and “out group” can lead to cruelty from both sides of the fence, and group opposition leads to misunderstanding and malice.

And how do we know that’s not what happens when people feel close to their countries?

After all, there have been plenty of wars where both parties were somewhat in the wrong, or even where both could be perceived as being in the right. And the people fighting those wars usually do so out of a loyalty to their country. This is noble. This is admirable. This is good.

I…I think?

I mean, I’m sure. Your country has been given to you so you can defend and better it, and fighting for it is part of that. If the choice was between your country or someone else’s country, all else being equal, you should choose the one you’ve been entrusted with—just like you should with your family. But I don’t think that choice has ever really come. The true “best interests” of a country don’t involve that country doing something wrong. So if you have to commit evil acts, thus defiling your country, in order to protect it…that’s actually hurting it.

But then, what actions are evil when you have a country to defend? What about a family? What about humanity?

Is it ever different?

And why is it that whenever I start thinking about patriotism, I end up having to think through the entire foundation of morality and the meaning of the universe?

Maybe that means patriotism is important?

Here are the things I think I almost know: We’re supposed to have some amount of loyalty to our country—and it should be less than our loyalty to our family and to God. We should be willing to defend that country both by protecting it from coming to worldly harm and by preventing it from falling into immorality or decay. Our patriotism should lead us to improve our country as we can, but should be born out of love for it. We should see ourselves as part of our country, and be proud of that fact. We don’t need to think our country is objectively the best, but it should be our favorite. Our patriotism should give us a friendly connection with other patriotic people in other countries rather than making us enemies (perhaps unless that country is trying to wrong ours…?)

All of these claims can be argued against. I think most of them are probably right, and some of them are probably wrong. I don’t know what to do about all that other stuff.

But this seems like a good place to start.

I’m not quite certain what this post is. Maybe it’s a cry for help, asking you to explain your views of patriotism to me. Maybe it’s an exploration of what the foundation of patriotism is, something I—or you—can build upon to create a solid opinion. Maybe it’s just a slightly cleaned-up version of the existential-crisis-on-a-page that I wrote for Lit Studies class.

I don’t know. Maybe I’ll never know. But here’s a quote from The Napoleon of Notting Hill that I think demonstrates the falseness of any view that claims patriotism requires hate. In the middle of a battle (with another London suburb…it’s a long story), one of the protagonists of the novel calls out, with genuine joy and even love, “We have won! We have taught the enemy patriotism!” Love of country doesn’t mean hatred for other countries—and I think most patriots know this. Accusations from those who don’t have led to confusion and perhaps to a new brand of patriotism, but I believe that most would still rejoice to know that the enemy—or simply the ally from another place—loves their home as much as we love ours.

After asking all these questions, that is all I know. Love your country (but don’t be weird).