To the outsider, few national rituals look more ridiculous, archaic and outdated than the ongoing Diamond Jubilee celebrations, which mark 60 years of Queen Elizabeth II's "reign". Many Americans cannot help but gleefully sneer at the sight of millions of Britons falling head over heels for an old woman draped in sparkling Jewelry.
While I, too, can hardly hold in the giggles, there is still an argument to be made for Diamond Jubilee-like practices. The argument becomes painfully compelling when we consider what it is that grants Americans "royal" status.
One of the most central elements of the American ethos is that of the self-made man or woman: a person who, through ingenuity, hard work and thoughtful risk works his or her way up the social ladder and into glittering success. Not surprisingly, birthright, familial connections and having a good starting point (materially speaking) tend to detract from our appreciation of an individual's success. Family name might be beneficial, but it is not something we would want to flaunt in public.
Few Americans have managed to embody this ethos and capture the imagination of their countrymen more than Steve Jobs, though his recent appearance on the stage of American history may also have something to do with it. Jobs is what Americans want (pun intended), and what Americans want to be. His legacy is sleek and shiny technological wonders that make our lives more comfortable (another two American fetishes, given our ardent belief in progress and in comfort). We love him because of what he has given us, and so, in a sense, we love him because we love ourselves. He is only as important as we think ourselves to be. The Jobs cult is an enlightened form of brute, good old American narcissism.
And oh, how we love him. One can waltz into a bookstore today and find illustrated biographies of Jobs' in the 8- to 11-year-old children's book section. All hail the provider of more reasons to disconnect from the actual world and sink our faces into impersonal virtual reality!
This explains much of our disdain for the British royalty fetish, which is not only based on birth and blood, but is fiercely proud of it. Benign monarchy provides a powerful reminder that greatness is not and ought not be measured solely in material terms. Where non-wealth based aristocracies are absent, greatness is measured in popularity and in utility. The consumer majority therefore determines the value of a human enterprise, of virtue and of greatness.
And there is nothing to protect us from the degradation of taste that is likely to follow. But where men and women can be born "made", rather than become self-made, their confidence in their social position can make them impervious to the tastes of the consumer majority. As Tocqueville famously taught, this preserves a moral and intellectual environment in which the tastes of the market are checked by higher ideas of virtue and excellence. Only in such societies is the market's reign not absolute.
Ironically, benign royalty is the best (and perhaps last) bastion against democracy's inclination toward the worship of iProphets such as Steve Jobs, impressive though they are. Consider the monumental influence of Princess Diana, who, for many Britons, embodied the spirit of charity and compassion. Here was a woman who did not need to prove herself through moneymaking ingenuity, nor did she have to justify her position by proving her utility to the comfort of British life. She exercised virtue for its own sake, which is the only way virtue can be exercised. Diana is a reminder that, important as we think ourselves to be, we must live our lives oriented toward horizons greater than ourselves, greater than our own comfort, greater than the here and now.
America and Britain. Each provides a model of human excellence it claims worthy of imitation. Ours is bourgeoisie, caters to our inflated sense of self-importance, and contributes little, if anything, to the idea of human greatness and moral virtue. And I doubt our iFetish drains less out of our wallets than the taxes Britons pay to carry out their "ridiculous" regal ceremonies. To satisfy our cynicism, yes, theirs might be an archaic testament to and a constant reminder of Britain's fall from imperial grace. But at the end of the day, at least the living image of the Queen can still stir a British citizen's soul and remind them of nobility as an alternative of human life. At least she can prove that for-its-own-sake virtue should still be a human aspiration.
We here, on the other side of the pond, are meanwhile left gaping at our iScreens, anxiously awaiting the app that will let us watch the royal British procession in all its ridiculousness.
