by Pete Hegseth
I was first drawn to Teddy Roosevelt and his historic speech exclusively by the “man in the arena” quote. Especially following the September 11, 2001, attacks, the quote—in that black frame and eventually in my green duffle bag—spoke to my deepest desires and instincts for action. Hearing the story of San Juan Hill and Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders drew me even closer to the quote. More than anything else, whether on the battlefield or in the public square, I wanted to be the man in the quote. I wanted a “face marred by dust and sweat and blood.” I wanted to be one who “strives valiantly” and “knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions.” I believed in America and stood for broad conservative principles, but was—initially—drawn to the sheer action, the sheer relevance, of the arena. Young men and women are drawn to action and causes. Causes are intoxicating; they give your life purpose and meaning. It’s why young people around the world are usually the ones protesting, chanting, “raising awareness,” or waving signs; it’s why some join violent street gangs, and others join the Islamic State. Had I been born elsewhere, either of those could have been me.
The action—and honor—of an arena is also why I joined the military. Each summer, I watched the veterans of Wanamingo, a small farming town in southern Minnesota where my parents grew up, walk down the wide main street during the Memorial Day parade (which ended, fittingly, at Memorial Park to remember the fallen). The veterans, some in old and ill-fitting uniforms and others fresh out of the service, walked proudly while the citizens of Wanamingo stood, clapped, and honored them. My grandfather Alton, an Army corporal who served in postwar Germany, was among the men marching. As he passed he would always smile humbly. The ritual left an imprint on my brain, but more so my heart. My other grandfather, Milton, a Navy ensign who died before I was born, also wore the nation’s uniform, serving in Guam during World War II. His memories, and old uniform, were often revived on those holidays as well. Otherwise, with no veterans on either my father’s or mother’s side (most were too young to be drafted in Vietnam), I did not come from a military family. That parade, and the patriotism and pride it exuded, led me to want to do something honorable and worthy of admiration. I wanted to be in the fight. I didn’t really understand the price of freedom, but I understood that those who fought for it were held in high esteem and that those who lost their lives for it were remembered. It drew me to military service—and because I was fortunate enough to live in the United States, eventually into the most important of arenas.
Roosevelt would certainly recognize my impulse for action, as it was his story, and the story of tens of millions of other Americans. But Roosevelt would also recognize—in form if not in kind—the Islamic State fighter perched atop his Humvee, clutching a rifle, and exhorting the crowd. Alone, action is a value-neutral construct, and Roosevelt understood that. Action can be good, but it can also be very bad. This simple fact is why his famous speech was not titled “Man in the Arena,” as is popularly thought. Roosevelt understood that being a man of action and in an arena is not enough. Fighting for something has some measure of inherent dignity, but what you fight for is exponentially more important. The Islamic State fighter certainly does not have a “timid soul,” but his arena is a cesspool of death, destruction, and slavery. His arena belongs only in Dante’s ninth circle of treacherous Hell. This example—like Nazism or communism before it—is where Roosevelt would passionately assert the converse of his famous quote: the critic does count, the cause must also be worthy, and having a cold soul validates neither victory nor defeat. Being “manly” (for men or women) has always mattered—but only if the fight is just, right, and true.
This is the point at which Roosevelt’s lens widens considerably. His speech was not titled “Man in the Arena” but instead “Citizenship in a Republic.” Citizenship is the indispensable ingredient to successful republics. The principle also works in reverse. Nonrepublics don’t have, or need, citizens. Roosevelt writes,
Under other forms of government, under the rule of one man or very few men, the quality of the leaders is all-important. If, under such governments, the quality of the rulers is high enough, then the nations for generations lead a brilliant career, and add substantially to the sum of world achievement, no matter how low the quality of average citizen; because the average citizen is an almost negligible quantity in working out the final results of that type of national greatness.
Great leaders are central to advancing a republic, but not sufficient, a fact that has allowed our experiment in self-governance to survive so many mediocre leaders. Being in the arena requires active citizenship in pursuit of individual freedom, impartial justice, and equal opportunity; the pursuit of a republic. Only advancing, in some form, the fragile American experiment places someone in the arena Roosevelt spoke about. That is citizenship, and only that preserves our republic. America’s citizenry must unapologetically understand and embody what makes America exceptional. Roosevelt homed in on that central characteristic and we should, too: “The average citizen must be a good citizen if our republics are to succeed.” A great America requires good citizens, who know her, believe in her, and will fight for her; good citizens who, when necessary, can muster the fortitude to drive a stake through the heart of that fanatical Islamic State fighter. As my good friend and Gold Star mother Karen Vaughn says often, “Our enemies fight because they hate what is in front of them, but Americans fight because we love what is behind us.”
• • •
Today, 147 of the world’s 206 countries use the word republic as part of their official name—an impressive number, until you see some of the names on the roster: People’s Republic of China, Republic of Cuba, Islamic Republic of Iran, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (otherwise known as North Korea), and Republic of the Sudan; a list of RINOs—Republics In Name Only—if I’ve ever seen one. Use of the word may be widespread, but true implementation of the principles is rare. Merriam-Webster defines republic as “a government in which supreme power resides in a body of citizens entitled to vote and is exercised by elected officers and representatives responsible to them and governing according to the law.” There is that word again—citizens—front and center. The textbook definition includes bedrock republican principles of voting, elected representatives, and the rule of law—but before all of that is the “supreme power” of the “body of citizens.”
But what does the word citizen really mean? The definition of citizen—someone who legally belongs to a country and has the rights and protections of that country—tells us very little. As do the modern criteria for citizenship in the United States, either through birth or through allegiance. Those physically born in the United States (with some important dispute) or born to United States citizens abroad (with some caveats and exceptions) are considered American citizens at the time of birth. Likewise, individuals who seek United States citizenship—through a process of application, residence, time, status, and declared allegiance—can become naturalized citizens of the United States. Properly understood, citizens of either process inherit a basic set of rights—“life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness”—enshrined in the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights. American citizens have the right to reside and work in the United States, a right to equal justice, the right to vote for their representatives, and the right to run for that same office—along with scores of other liberties. They also incur basic obligations like jury duty, paying taxes, and potential conscription into military service. Finally, American citizens are afforded the protection of the U.S. government from foreign and domestic threats.
These rights, duties, and benefits of American citizenship are, in and of themselves, impressive. Political, economic, and religious freedom, elected and accessible representatives, juries of peers, public education, and the world’s most powerful military are things very few people on earth have ever experienced. These things are part of what makes America, by definition, exceptional. However, American citizenship can easily devolve
—and has—into a transactional relationship where expansive rights and generous benefits are afforded to citizens in exchange for superficial and easily avoidable duties to the American experiment in self-government. Paying your taxes, voting in a presidential election every four years, and doing jury duty twice in one’s life may meet the technical definition of citizenship, but certainly not the spirit. It is also not sufficient for a republic to succeed in the long term. As Teddy Roosevelt pointed out, the perpetuation of America’s exceptional experiment in citizen empowerment is not possible merely through disinterested participation. Great republics, like America, require not just citizens, but “good citizens.”
According to polling conducted by the American Enterprise Institute in 2010, roughly two-thirds of Americans said loving one’s country was enough to be a good citizen. Certainly loving your country—being a “good patriot,” as Roosevelt called it at the Sorbonne—is a necessary precondition for good citizenship. Love of country is a beautiful thing and might compel someone to hang a flag in their yard, cheer for our athletes in the Olympics, or maybe even buy an American-made car—all of which are welcome sentiments. But the feeling of patriotism is little comfort, and utterly insufficient, if it is not conjoined with the attributes of “good citizens.” Many of those who hang flags, chant “U-S-A” every four years, and buy American cars have already been seduced into the kind of counterproductive cultural complacency described later in this section. Loving America does not necessarily equate to fighting for her. This is especially true in light of the cultural decline that has occurred in America, and good citizens will be needed to reverse this trend, not government. By its very nature, government and its bureaucracy grow, justifying and expanding its existence by purporting to solve every conceivable crisis, ill, or “social injustice.” Only good citizens can reverse this growth. Good citizenship is patriotism in action, and it is good citizenship—not government—that is, as Roosevelt called it, “the main source of national power and national greatness.”
This point cannot be overstated. Quite simply, good citizens are the only antidote to bad and big government. The smaller, more selfish, and more slavish the citizen, the larger, more paternalistic, and more dictatorial the government. Small citizens—either those not engaged at all, or those who only chant “U-S-A” and check the box every four years—are the enablers of nefarious, insatiable, and unchecked centralized power. Eventually, if power is left unchecked, small citizens eventually turn into mere subjects, exchanging their minimal civic duties for the small securities of government-granted, and therefore government-limited, freedom. The old adage still holds true—he who takes the king’s money eventually does the king’s bidding. On the flip side, however, the more engaged, more selfless, and more informed the citizen becomes, the smaller, less intrusive, and more restrained government becomes. Good citizens—informed about America’s founding ideals and willing to act accordingly—are the thin line between freedom and tyranny. In a republic, the good citizen is the only guarantor of good governance.
So who is this “good citizen”? And are you willing to be one?
• • •
After a brief introduction to his French audience, Roosevelt begins: “Today I shall speak to you on the subject of individual citizenship.” He starts by talking about “average citizens” before quickly transitioning to the phrase “good citizen,” stating his simple—but powerful—thesis: “The average citizen must be a good citizen if our republics are to succeed.” Average is not good enough for republics and therefore not good enough for Roosevelt. He also lays out an important bifurcation, saying the success of a republic depends on citizens doing their duty, “first in the ordinary, every-day affairs of life, and next in those great occasional crises which call for heroic virtues.” Good citizenship is a daily and ordinary exercise, not merely a response to extraordinary crises. This is an important point that permeates the entire speech. Heroic virtues are vitally important but are secondary compared to the “homely virtues” that “stand at the bottom of character” for a good citizen. Moreover, the ability to muster—and sustain—heroic virtues in times of crisis is dependent upon the ability to undergird them through good citizenship in everyday life. It is the ordinary—the vast majority of men, women, and days—that Roosevelt addresses first.
“In short, the good citizen in a republic must realize that they ought to possess two sets of qualities, and that neither avails without the other. He must have those qualities which make for efficiency; and that he also must have those qualities which direct the efficiency into channels for the public good,” says Roosevelt. Efficiency and the public good—probably not the words you expected. Public good maybe, but efficiency is a word most often associated with lightbulbs and starting pitchers—not citizenship. For Roosevelt, efficiency means intentional action without wasting substantial time or energy; it means an active life full of meaning and purpose. In great republics, there is little place for “inefficient” average citizens who are simply “harmless,” “sluggish,” or “timid.” Every society contains a range of physical and mental abilities, with some citizens naturally more capable than others. Roosevelt is specifically calling out those average citizens—with the physical and mental ability to contribute at their level and station in life—to maximize their personal contributions. He sums it up by saying the “good citizen” must “be able to hold his own.” Holding your own is a relative measure, not an absolute one, but it is nonetheless a powerful measure. It is a measure we can all live up to. Efficient citizens productively contribute in the manner, and to the degree, that they are capable of—they maximize themselves, their family, and their country.
Roosevelt further clarifies what “holding your own” means for the good citizen, saying the “ordinary, every-day qualities include the will and the power to work, to fight at need, and to have plenty of healthy children.” Even before these, “above mind and above body . . . stands character,” the bedrock of any good citizen. Good, efficient citizens work hard, fight when necessary, have large and strong families, and possess strong character. Work, Fight, Children, and Character—the four ingredients for free, efficient, and good citizens. While character is the baseline for all of them, no ingredient is less important than another, and each places an obligation on the individual, not government. The government plays a role in enabling each ingredient, but only the citizen makes them possible and keeps them healthy. Citizenship is first about what men, women, and their families achieve; it is not about what those men, women, and children provide for the government. Those other obligations—to community and country—are important, but come during the “public good” portion of the civic equation. Before we point to the government or others, we must first hold our own. This understanding of good citizenship is the key to fixing our upside-down civic culture.
WORK
Roosevelt starts by addressing work, saying, “The need that the average man [or woman, of course] shall work is so obvious as hardly to warrant insistence.” But then, speaking to elite men of leisure in Paris, France, he insists:
The man’s foremost duty is owed to himself and his family; and he can do this duty only by earning money, by providing what is essential to material well-being; it is only after this has been done that he can hope to build a higher superstructure on the solid material foundation; it is only after this has been done that he can help in his movements for the general well-being. He must pull his own weight first, and only after this can his surplus strength be of use to the general public.
Notice how Roosevelt frames work—not as a right, but as a duty. It’s a duty not only to one’s self, but also to others. In this sense, a good citizen is pulling his own weight as opposed to relying on others, or government, to provide for him. Work, to Roosevelt, is a moral imperative for good citizens—something they ought to do, for the betterment of themselves and the entirety of society. Roosevelt does not speak to the manner of employment or the virtue of any particular vocatio
n—that is up to the individual in a free society within a free enterprise system. An honest day’s work provides not only “material well-being” but also the foundation upon which good citizens can engage beyond themselves and their household.
This “earned success”—to use a phrase recently coined by the American Enterprise Institute’s Arthur Brooks—is also central to the self-worth, dignity, and happiness of the individual. It makes someone independent; it affords options, opportunity, and ultimately, more happiness (as Brooks’s studies attest). That is not to say that work is always enjoyable, but the alternative is dependency, which brings with it restrictions, limitations, and ultimately, limits on happiness. According to Roosevelt, it should also bring with it shame. He says,
The average man must earn his own livelihood. He should be trained to do so, and he should be trained to feel that he occupies a contemptible position if he does not do so; that he is not an object of envy if he is idle, at whichever end of the social scale he stands, but an object of contempt, an object of derision.
Not only is idleness not okay; it ought be an object of “contempt” and “derision.” Good citizens should earn their keep but also shame others who are capable but still choose not to work, earn, or strive. Of course, each of us has moments of dependency, either on other people or government; it’s natural, and brings with it a measure of healthy humility. That is not what Roosevelt is referring to; his criticism is reserved for systemic and perpetual dependency that is anathema to both human development and good citizenship. My deployment to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, in 2004–05 included long shifts, late nights, and many mundane days; but as I wrote in my journal then, “there is a small and subtle peace that goes with the daily grind.” Hard work isn’t always sexy and not always enjoyable—but it brings a rewarding peace that is ultimately healthy for the soul.
