On Being an American in 2025
Revisiting H.L. Mencken's 1922 essay in 2025, Craig makes some subtle changes to modernize and update the language and syntax, to see what may still ring true today.
Over 100 years ago, the Sage of Baltimore, H.L. Mencken, published a short, satirical essay in his 1922 collection Prejudices: Third Series. In "On Being an American," he portrays the United States as a chaotic, almost theatrical spectacle and revels in the nation’s political farce, religious eccentricity, and cultural vulgarity. Mencken delights in the “ribald combats of demagogues” and the “exquisitely ingenious operations of master rogues,” suggesting that the sheer spectacle of American democracy, stripped of solemnity and stuffed with “gorgeous humors," is what keeps him loyal to it, despite its flaws. But beneath the sarcasm and the critique of the average American’s intellectual laziness and the nation’s obsession with shallow heroics lies a genuine fondness for America’s unapologetic embrace of the ridiculous. For Mencken, the country’s charm is in its raw, unpolished energy, and a certain grand, entertaining flair. It's a complex mix of affection and disdain for his homeland that, I suspect, we all may share.
Since it is in the public domain, you can read the original H.L. Mencken essay, "On Being in America," printed in full below.
Below that, Craig thought it might be interesting to reexamine this essay in 2025, so he made some subtle changes to modernize and update the language and syntax, to see what may, from Mencken's time, still ring true today.
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On Being an American
by H.L. Mencken (1922)
All the while I have been forgetting the third of my reasons for remaining so faithful a citizen of the Federation, despite all the lascivious inducements from expatriates to follow them beyond the seas, and all the surly suggestions from patriots that I succumb. It is the reason which grows out of my mediaeval but unashamed taste for the bizarre and indelicate, my congenital weakness for comedy of the grosser varieties.
The United States, to my eye, is incomparably the greatest show on earth. It is a show which avoids diligently all the kinds of clowning which tire me most quickly — for example, royal ceremonials, the tedious hocus-pocus of haut politique, the taking of politics seriously — and lays chief stress upon the kinds which delight me unceasingly — for example, the ribald combats of demagogues, the exquisitely ingenious operations of master rogues, the pursuit of witches and heretics, the desperate struggles of inferior men to claw their way into Heaven.
We have clowns in constant practice among us who are as far above the clowns of any other great state as a Jack Dempsey is above a paralytic — and not a few dozen or score of them, but whole droves and herds. Human enterprises which, in all other Christian countries, are resigned despairingly to an incurable dullness — things that seem devoid of exhilirating amusement, by their very nature — are here lifted to such vast heights of buffoonery that contemplating them strains the midriff almost to breaking.
I cite an example: the worship of God. Everywhere else on earth it is carried on in a solemn and dispiriting manner; in England, of course, the bishops are obscene, but the average man seldom gets a fair chance to laugh at them and enjoy them. Now come home. Here we not only have bishops who are enormously more obscene than even the most gifted of the English bishops; we have also a huge force of lesser specialists in ecclesiastical mountebankery — tin-horn Loyolas, Savonarolas and Xaviers of a hundred fantastic rites, each performing untiringly and each full of a grotesque and illimitable whimsicality.
Every American town, however small, has one of its own: a holy clerk with so fine a talent for introducing the arts of jazz into the salvation of the damned that his performance takes on all the gaudiness of a four-ring circus, and the bald announcement that he will raid Hell on such and such a night is enough to empty all the town blind-pigs and bordellos and pack his sanctuary to the doors. And to aid him and inspire him there are travelling experts to whom he stands in the relation of a wart to the Matterhorn — stupendous masters of theological imbecility, contrivers of doctrines utterly preposterous, heirs to the Joseph Smith, Mother Eddy and John Alexander Dowie tradition — Bryan, Sunday, and their like. These are the eminences of the American Sacred College. I delight in them. Their proceedings make me a happier American.
Turn, now, to politics.
Consider, for example, a campaign for the Presidency. Would it be possible to imagine anything more uproariously idiotic — a deafening, nerve-wracking battle to the death between Tweedledum and Tweedledee, Harlequin and Sganarelle, Gobbo and Dr. Cook — the unspeakable, with fearful snorts, gradually swallowing the inconceivable? I defy any one to match it elsewhere on this earth. In other lands, at worst, there are at least intelligible issues, coherent ideas, salient personalities. Somebody says something, and somebody replies. But what did Harding say in 1920, and what did Cox reply? Who was Harding, anyhow, and who was Cox? Here, having perfected democracy, we lift the whole combat to symbolism, to transcendentalism, to metaphysics. Here we load a pair of palpably tin cannon with blank cartridges charged with talcum power, and so let fly. Here one may howl over the show without any uneasy reminder that it is serious, and that some one may be hurt. I hold that this elevation of politics to the plane of undiluted comedy is peculiarly American, that no-where else on this disreputable ball has the art of the sham-battle been developed to such fineness...
... Here politics is purged of all menace, all sinister quality, all genuine significance, and stuffed with such gorgeous humors, such inordinate farce that one comes to the end of a campaign with one's ribs loose, and ready for "King Lear," or a hanging, or a course of medical journals.
But feeling better for the laugh. Ridi si sapis, said Martial. Mirth is necessary to wisdom, to comfort, above all to happiness. Well, here is the land of mirth, as Germany is the land of metaphysics and France is the land of fornication. Here the buffoonery never stops. What could be more delightful than the endless struggle of the Puritan to make the joy of the minority unlawful and impossible? The effort is itself a greater joy to one standing on the side-lines than any or all of the carnal joys it combats. Always, when I contemplate an uplifter at his hopeless business, I recall a scene in an old- time burlesque show, witnessed for hire in my days as a dramatic critic. A chorus girl executed a fall upon the stage, and Rudolph Krausemeyer, the Swiss comdeian, rushed to her aid. As he stooped painfully to succor her, Irving Rabinovitz, the Zionist comedian, fetched him a fearful clout across the cofferdam with a slap-stick. So the uplifter, the soul-saver, the Americanizer, striving to make the Republic fit for Y.M.C.A. secretaries. He is the eternal American, ever moved by the best of intentions, ever running a la Krausemeyer to the rescue of virtue, and ever getting his pantaloons fanned by the Devil. I am naturally sinful, and such spectacles caress me. If the slap-stick were a sash-weight, the show would be cruel, and I'd probably complain to the Polizei. As it is, I know that the uplifter is not really hurt, but simply shocked. The blow, in fact, does him good, for it helps get him into Heaven, as exegetes prove from Matthew v, 11: Hereux serez-vous, lorsqu'on vous outragera, qu'on vous persecutera, and so on. As for me, it makes me a more contented man, and hence a better citizen. One man prefers the Republic because it pays better wages than Bulgaria. Another because it has laws to keep him sober and his daughter chaste. Another because the Woolworth Building is higher than the cathedral at Chartres. Another because, living here, he can read the New York Evening Journal. Another because there is a warrant out for him somewhere else. Me, I like it because it amuses me to my taste. I never get tired of the show. It is worth every cent it costs.
That cost, it seems to me is very moderate. Taxes in the United States are not actually high. I figure, for example, that my private share of the expense of maintaining the Hon. Mr. Harding in the White House this year will work out to less than 80 cents. Try to think of better sport for the money: in New York it has been estimated that it costs $8 to get comfortably tight, and $17.50, on an average, to pinch a girl's arm. The United States Senate will cost me perhaps $11 for the year, but against that expense set the subscription price of the Congressional Record, about $15, which, as a journalist, I receive for nothing. For $4 less than nothing I am thus entertained as Solomon never was by his hooch dancers. Col. George Brinton McClellan Harvey costs me but 25 cents a year; I get Nicholas Murray Butler free. Finally, there is young Teddy Roosevelt, the naval expert. Teddy costs me, as I work it out, about 11 cents a year, or less than a cent a month. More, he entertains me doubly for the money, first as a naval expert, and secondly as a walking attentat upon democracy, a devastating proof that there is nothing, after all, in that superstition. We Americans subscribe to the doctrine of human equality — and the Rooseveltii reduce it to an absurdity as brilliantly as the sons of Veit Bach. Where is your equal opportunity now? Here in this Eden of clowns, with the highest rewards of clowning theoretically open to every poor boy — here in the very citadel of democracy we found and cherish a clown dynasty!
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On Being an American in 2025
by Craig Walker
I almost forgot the third reason why I remain such a die-hard citizen of the United States despite the seduction from social media influencers and the sleazy cryptobro’s call to abandon the system, and the joyless "you should" demands of self-styled patriots for not subscribing to their particular flavor. It's because I've always had an old-school, unapologetic love for the weird and the raw, a natural weakness for comedy of the simplest kind.
This country is the greatest show on earth. A production that skips the pageantry - the pomp of royal ceremonies, pretentious political posturing, and far too-serious debates - and instead cranks the stuff that really gets me going and injects it straight into my veins: the rap battles between populists, the psyops and the counter-psyops, the modern witch hunts for renegade programmers and cultural heretics, the relentless grind of everyday underdogs trying to hustle their way to the top.
We’re blessed with a never-ending parade of clowns, so far above the average seen anywhere else, it’s like comparing a UFC champion to a paralytic. And it’s not just a few. We have whole mobs, veritable drone swarms of personalities turning even the most boring activities - things that are truly dull and mindnumbing, at their core - into such jaw-dropping spectacles that even thinking about how the ideas came to be will have you laughing so hard your abs might just give out.
Take worship, for example. Everywhere else, religious services, if they're done at all, remain serious and soul-sucking. Even in England, where the numbers of the faithful continue to plummet, the clergy remain magisterial and few take the opportunity to tease them. But back home? Our bishops don't just push the envelope, they shred it. We have a metaphorical army of spiritual conmen. Street preachers, televangelists, and social-media clerics working around the clock on hundreds of preposterous new routines, each one more outrageous and silly than the last.
In every American town, no matter how small, there's a preacher who's so cool and so hip and can so shift his vibe to fit any type of spiritual existential dread he can turn his service into a rock concert; a single, unadorned tweet proclaiming some vague prosperity gospel on a certain night is enough to pack his strip-mall sanctuary to the brim. And he’s not alone. There’s a whole roster of both firebrands and seeker-sensitive types who are to him what a viral memes are to the internet: masters of ridiculous theology, spinning doctrines so absurd they’d make figures like L. Ron Hubbard, Anton LaVey, and even Bob Dobbs look like they were just kidding around. These are the rockstars of America’s holy scene, and honestly, their stunts make me a happier American.
As for the politics…
Would it even be possible to imagine a presidential campaign that’s anything less than a wild, raucous, head-spinning showdown, a full-on brawl between two over-the-top mega-parties in a nonstop meme battle for the soul of the nation? I dare anyone to find anything that absurd anywhere else on the globe. In most other countries, even the smallest factions segregate the issues to try to offer coherent ideas, and their meek personalities at least allow you to be able to actually follow a thought. But what was Trump even saying back in 2024, and what did Biden reply? Who was Trump then really, anyhow, and who was Biden? Here, in our perfected version of democracy, the whole game gets elevated to pure symbolism almost like high art. Here we load up a pair of chrome-plated cannons with confetti and hot air and fire off crazy after crazy until we transcend the metaphysical. Here you can laugh your heart out at the spectacle without ever worrying that someone’s getting hurt, because nothing here is taken serious. This transformation of politics into divine comedy remains uniquely American. Nowhere else on this lost planet has it been taken to this level.
Politics here is stripped of any real menace, any dark edge, and all genuine substance. It’s like binge-watching the most beautifully photographed dark comedy sketches and picaresque reality-television gameshows that, by the end of a campaign, you so can't breathe from laughter that you need to visit a contemporary art museum, watch a terror attack on social media, or read a medical dictionary to calm down.
But you know what? That laugh makes everything better. As Martial said, “Laugh, and you’ll be wise.” Mirth isn’t just a nice bonus, it’s essential for wisdom, comfort, and above all, happiness. Well, this is America, the home of entertainment. Just like Germany is known for engineering or metaphysics and France for romance and sexuality. Here, the show never stops. The show must go on. And what could be more entertaining than watching the perpetual struggle of the self-righteous as they try to outlaw even a hint of joy? A futile crusade that's funnier to watch than all the jokes they seek to destroy.
Whenever I see a would-be moral crusader in their hopelessness, the would-be saviors desperately trying to "fix" this nation, I remember a scene from a music festival I attended when I was a young man. A pretty, young, backup dancer tripped and fell on stage, and the host comedian rushed over. As he bent down to help her get up, another comedian, you know the "edgy" type always desperately short of being cool at all the wrong times, hit him in the head with a fake prop for touching her. That, my friends, is the eternal American paradox: a person with the best of intentions, always barreling in to rescue innocence, only to get smacked for the effort. I, knowing that I'm imperfect myself, can't help but be charmed by these types of scenes. If that prop were truly heavy, the whole thing would be cruel and I’d probably call the cops. But really, the poor host isn’t hurt, just startled, and that shock may even get him into Heaven (or so as some Bible scholars might argue from a passage in Matthew 5:11 or something like that). For me, it was mere entertainment. Which just makes me happier and, in turn, a better citizen.
See, some folks love this republic because it pays better than, say, Bulgaria. Others stick around because our laws keep them honest and their children safe. Some are awed by our technological achievements that make the old-world look like a tourist trap. Others appreciate our free speech and the fact that he can say anything he wants every day. And others are just on the run from somewhere else.
As for me, I like it because it’s exactly my kind of entertainment. It never gets old. It's worth every cent.
And honestly, when you really think about it, the price is super affordable.
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