Lessons from November: fraying the bonds.

From where I sit, where I am in possession of what is, I admit, a parochial point of view, the worst thing that happened in November's election was that I was soundly defeated in my race for Congress. But I'll tell you about that some other day.

The second worst thing was the strong showing of Ross Perot, close to 20 percent of the popular vote, since this is one further sign of the dissolution of American political parties. The rapid erosion of George Bush's popularity (it actually resembled a drop off a cliff more than an erosion), which went from 90-percent approval rating at the close of the Gulf War in early 1991 to a less than 40-percent vote on election day, is another sign of the same thing.

Some commentators have remarked that Perot's percentage of the vote was the highest for a third-party candidate since Theodore Roosevelt ran as the Progressive (or "Bull Moose") party candidate in 1912. But they are mistaken, for Perot was not a third-party candidate. He was a no-party candidate. That's what is so alarming.

If Perot had been a third-party candidate, the big vote for him might be a sign of the breakdown of one or both of the major parties. That would be a momentous development, certainly, but it would be neither unprecedented nor catastrophic. The Whig party broke down in the 1850s, to be replaced by the new Republican party, whereupon the two-party system continued with a new player. But the Perot phenomenon appears to be the sign of the breakdown of the two-party system itself.

"So what?" some will say. "What's so sacred about the two-party system? Political parties may have been necessary in earlier times, when citizens were not so well educated and informed as they are today. Perhaps back then they needed parties to guide their political thinking. Fine. But those days are gone forever. We are living in a brave new world of computers and fiber optics. We have learned how to think for ourselves. We can and should vote for the person, not the party."

Maybe. But I wonder. I am far from certain that our political intelligence is greater today than it was, say, among the audiences who listened to the Lincoln-Douglas debates. And how about that audience a couple of months ago at Cooper Union in New York City, who shouted down Governor Robert Casey of Pennsylvania, not allowing him to speak on abortion (the second time this year Casey was not allowed to speak in New York on this topic)? Were they more enlightened than Lincoln's Cooper Union audience in 1860?

I grow anxious when I consider that there is no example of a modem nation which has been a stable democracy in the absence of a multiparty system, usually a two- or three-party system. Thus we may reasonably ask: Is the slow dissolve of our party system the first stage in the collapse of American democracy?

The retreat from party loyalties and identities is an example of a more generalized retreat that has taken place in recent decades; a retreat from religious loyalties and identities is another example. The retreat from marriage and family is still another.

I suspect these three, plus others that might be mentioned, are parts of a package. They all go together; and if we are to evaluate the merits of the dissolution of political parties, we will have to do this as part of a broader evaluation of the merits of this generalized retreat from the old particularisms.

In no case has the old institution simply been repudiated. Political parties continue to exist, and so do religions, and so do families. But in each case the individual is less tightly bound to the institution. He or she wears the institutional garment more loosely, is more able to slip out of it if it becomes uncomfortable. While we may enter these institutions with both feet, we stand near the door in case we have to make a quick getaway. The individual is less likely to define himself or herself in terms of institutional memberships or loyalties. Nowadays the hardcore Democrat or Republican is more difficult to find; and so is the hardcore Protestant or Catholic or Jew; and so is the hardcore husband or wife.

It is as if people are saying: "Yes, I happen to be a Catholic or a Democrat or a spouse. But I am so much more than any of these. None of these roles or attachments constitutes the essential me. The real me transcends all roles and loyalties. That's why, though I have no immediate plans to leave my church or my party or spouse, I could readily do so without ceasing to be myself."

This is radical individualism, but an individualism compatible with universalism, as though our hypothetical speaker were to continue his or her speech thus: "Because I transcend all my roles and loyalties, I am not ultimately divided from my fellow human beings. In our particularisms we are separate from one another, but at the level of our true selves we are capable of solidarity. For in the last analysis we are not members of institutions; we are members of the human race."

This sounds good, and when I hear it the Kantian in me nods in vigorous agreement, and so does the Christian in me. But when it comes to particularisms, human nature seems to abhor a vacuum. Instead of the retreat from the old particularisms having led to an outburst of universalistic solidarity, we find that new particularisms are growing faster than the old ones are dying out. Racial and ethnic and sexual identities are aggressively asserted. Multiculturalism--which is to say, multiparticularism--is the order of the day. The evil of particularism, if evil it be, having been thrown out the door, has returned through the windows.

I have my doubts that this exchange of old particularisms for new is such a good deal. At least the churches and the political parties preached universalistic values if they did not always practice them. But the new particularisms neither preach nor practice universalism. We are like the man who, having swept his house clean of the old devils, finds that an even greater number of new devils have come to dwell in the empty house.