by Raymond E. Drake
For the last two weeks this southwestern corner of Pennsylvania’s York County has been abuzz with joyful excitement. A pair of bald-headed eagles had been seen at the dam on Codorus Lake. “Will they stay?” one person asked. “Will some idiot shoot them?” asked another.
“You mean here?” exclaimed an unbeliever. “For goodness sakes, I thought you only saw them out west or up in Alaska!” “It’s been so long... Oh heavens, I just can’t remember the last time we’ve had a couple of them eagles here!” pondered an old-timer.
No, it wasn’t rumor. It was for real. As the days filed by and the sightings multiplied, so did people’s amazement. Some stopped their busy day to admire the eagle’s majestic and graceful soaring high above, its white head and tail plumage blazing in immaculate snowy contrast against the deep azure beyond. Others confirmed seeing one perched on an old dead tree almost daily in the marsh by Menges Mills.
I couldn’t help but notice how happy everyone was. Some were jubilant because they had actually seen our national bird, others were glad just at the thought of one being close by. I was squarely in the second group. It seemed like I was never at the right place at the right time.
Some of my TFP colleagues were aglow with how they saw an eagle landing on a tall pine right here on the grounds, and they described with vivid detail the powerful and determined thrusts of its big wings as it lifted off again. I caught myself repeatedly studying the sky and looking at the tall pine tree every time I walked between buildings.
One evening I picked up an album on eagles to read a little on them and marvel at the pictures. I would interrupt my work and look out the office window whenever the crows went into a fit hoping to see the object of their envious chiding. So far though, I haven’t set eyes on this champion of the sky.
As the days went by my thoughts climbed to a different level. I had noticed something else. The daily burden seemed somewhat easier to cope with even though many people, like myself, hadn’t seen the eagle either.
It seemed that just the thought of its presence in the area brought with it a kind of lightness, a healthy self-assurance in dealing with the day’s numerous concerns. It was something hard to pin down, something imponderable, but it helped one think of spring, even though it was just the first week in March. This imponderable translated into a certain drive and zest for pushing onward, overcoming obstacles, striving undaunted and confidently towards difficult and worthy goals.
Small wonder—I said to myself—that this noble bird was chosen as our country’s symbol. Many who came before us also drew inspiration from the symbolism God placed in eagles.
Julius Caesar’s conquering legions, Charlemagne’s baptized warriors, countless Crusaders who fought to rescue the Holy Places from the infidels, all of them found a deep and mysterious courage in the heraldic symbolism of an eagle. What an interesting project, I thought, for someone to review the flags and official seals of nations and states, provinces and cities, to see how many of them today still find in the eagle a symbol of their best aspirations.
At this my thoughts sank somewhat as I reflected on how we Americans see ourselves as a nation. True, the bald-headed eagle is our national symbol, but how many Americans reflect on what this symbolism is all about? Is it a symbol for some and not for others? If so, considering that a nation is a unified political entity is the eagle still appropriate as our national symbol? If the issue had to be decided again today, would the eagle still win our hearts?
The questions seemed to me all the more relevant as I recalled how Benjamin Franklin over two hundred years ago argued the case for the turkey.
The thought of a turkey as our national symbol made me cringe. I had always understood the choice of a national symbol as the expression of the nation’s noblest vision and the ideals it most loved. How could a turkey be the expression of anyone’s lofty ideals? What was lofty about a turkey?
As for Franklin’s approach to the issue, it seemed to have little or no elevation to it. The turkey, he is alleged to have pointed out, would be an appropriate symbol since, unlike the eagle, everything in a turkey was useful.
This kind of reasoning upset me not a little, for it rang in fervent tribute to a materialistic and consumerist worldview and egregious disregard for man’s more noble and superior spiritual endeavors. So a physical symbol that reminds us of the noble goals and virtues that should shape our country, culture, and civilization isn’t useful? Are then nobility in the stalwart defense of truth and justice, courage in confronting opposition and persecution, and vision to foresee great dangers looming on a distant horizon virtues that are deemed useless?
Few people will contest, and certainly not I, the delight of a tastefully cooked turkey during a family dinner. However, it seemed to me that the true focus of the Founding Fathers’ discussion revolved around the symbolism of living birds, not their demand at the meat counter.
The bald-headed eagle we use as our national symbol is shown full of life, as were all the eagles used as symbols down through the ages. Even if Franklin’s suggestion had prevailed, I couldn’t imagine this ancient custom changing. Surely the President’s official seal would bear the image of a live turkey, not a golden and crispy Perdue butterball. Of course the debate at our country’s onset focused on what a live eagle and a live turkey symbolize for man.
I thought of the turkeys I knew as a boy. The barnyard absorbed all of their attention, and it seemed like no interest remained for the rest of the world. The feeding trough was indisputably the center of their little universe. They couldn’t fly, not because their wings were clipped, but because they were too heavy and lazy. The gobblers took turns puffing themselves up until it seemed they would burst, and they strutted around picking a fight that never seemed to materialize.
Despite all their battle dress though, the turkeys faced death with seeming indifference, for when one bird was butchered the others never ran away, but looked on casually. Their real advantage, though, was in the field of expression. Oh they were boisterous beyond belief and never tired of hearing each other out. The children quickly perceived this and proved it again and again to visiting friends. Any cheap imitation of a gobble... and all the turkeys struggled to outdo each other in dutiful response.
The symbolism of eagle and turkey conflicted in my mind. The first’s noble bearing, piercing gaze and powerful flight contrasted sharply with the second’s unperceiving look, boastful strut, and gluttonous habits.
One was at home in the vastness of the sky and was co-natural with grand panoramas and difficult enterprises.
The other’s petty world was chock full of guarantees, amenities, and restricted horizons. The eagle made me think of the proudest moments in American history and the heroism, courage and noble sacrifice in the individual lives of millions. The turkey, it seemed to me, showed America at its worst: self-interest and self-gratification coupled with a materialistic indifference to the higher things of the spirit.
I couldn’t help but think how popular these earthly sentiments are today. Indeed they are so common I could just hear someone saying: “There’s nothing wrong with Franklin’s turkey idea. Like so many ‘prophets,’ he too was misunderstood and rejected. He wasn’t wrong though, just a little too early for his times.”
I wasn’t at all happy with this new twist of reasoning. Something deep within me classified it as sophistic and deceptive. It sounded so absurd. And fatalistic too. I couldn’t see even the most rabid evolutionist defending this mutation from eagle to turkey as part of the natural course of things.
At the same time, I sensed there was some truth to the idea of the turkey being a symbol for many today. The attitudes of no small number of Americans seem to be inspired by the turkey’s barnyard view. With this I began to reflect on recent events and some of the reactions they provoked.
The impeachment debacle and its epilogue struck me as a first and obvious example. The media’s reporting on the President’s past doings presents facts that are increasingly scandalous, but his continued popularity seems to portray a nation largely indifferent to good and evil, right and wrong, true and false.
Indeed, I thought, how does one explain that 60 million Americans tune in to watch Miss Lewinsky’s two-hour interview with ABC’s Barbara Walters? Certainly not ignorance as to what she looked like or would talk about. Who can allege ignorance after the media’s furious spadework over the last year to erode our moral barriers of shame? Not surprisingly, the calls that apparently flooded the studio were not venting outrage, but inquiring as to the color of lipstick Miss Lewinsky had used while on the screen.
I remembered our steelworkers and their right indignation over Russia, Japan and Brazil’s efforts to destroy America’s steel industry. However, I also wondered how many of them and their families refuse to buy the cheap products being dumped on our shores by Communist China, for the sake of principle?
The in-depth reporting on the espionage and theft of American nuclear technology at Los Alamos, the leaks of satellite delivery technology to China, and North Korea’s determination to build nuclear intercontinental ballistic missiles capable of reaching the U.S. even while their starving population is fed by American largess. A group of concerned politicians throws together an eleventh hour proposal to “develop a missile shield as soon as technologically possible” (I wondered if this meant 1952 when we detonated our first hydrogen bomb, or was it 1967 when Armstrong walked on the moon).
However, others voice caution for such an initiative might well upset the Russians or delay the Duma’s ratification of a SALT II treaty signed with a defunct Soviet Union. As for the public, it seemed to me that the sense of danger was terribly absent from the minds of millions who show themselves indifferent and even irritated, if someone brings up such serious concerns. “Not my problem! I didn’t vote for Clinton!” (That’s if they’re not one of the 60,000,000 or so Americans eligible to vote but who never show up at the booth). They seemed even less interested in that Washington’s response to the crisis seems to be an even more aggressive pursuit of its “feed the crocodile” engagement policy.
The facts were before me and there was no way around them. Millions were sunk in self-satisfied apathy, intrinsically choosing the turkey as their national symbol. But at the same time, I knew with a rock hard conviction, that millions more loved the sight of a bald-headed eagle and the virtues it symbolizes. And I had no doubt whatsoever, that they too feel inspired by it even when it doesn’t fly their way.
I had to conclude that the debate over our national symbol did not cease with the shelving of Franklin’s suggestion, and that in fact it is reenacted over the generations, being deeply intertwined in our history. Sometimes the eagle, sometimes the turkey is our country’s true, if unconfessed and unofficial symbol. The country’s tendency towards one or the other is the resulting vector of individual preferences made in the secret depths of millions of American hearts.
Every single one of us has a profound impact in this silent but profound battle for America’s soul as we take a stand on the great issues affecting the nation and the world. Our choice, influenced as it is by a thousand things particularly the example of those closest to us and the force of our own habits, is remade at every moment.
At times the eagle soars within us and we disdain the turkey’s vulgar ways. But the Church teaches us that we need to struggle against our defects not just occasionally, but daily and until we die. When we don’t and they gain the upper hand, we lose interest in braving the winds of adversity like an eagle and look for a comfortable place among the turkeys at the trough.
America’s great influence in the world today brings with it great historical responsibility. We should look at this responsibility with the undaunted and penetrating gaze of an eagle, and soar towards it fearlessly, regardless of the sacrifice it entails, rejecting disdainfully the temptation to trudge the easier but inglorious road of mediocrity.
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