Posted on October 3, 2002 in Courage & Activism Crosstalk Social Justice
chari reprints the well-intentioned appeal of a “young child named Thomas, who lives in Bulgaria” for promoting inner peace in these troubled times. (I noted that this “young child” uses some pretty adult words like “involved”, “conclusion”, “conflict”, and “dissipate” to mention a few. I suspect, at the minimum, that this has been run through an adult medium, perhaps with some additions of content.)
His advice seems sound at first reading. I can certainly see its appeal to those who wish to escape the sufferings inflicted on us by the world:
With all due respect to chari, who I love dearly, I must state that this advice may compound the problems we now face as a nation and as a species. Thomas’s suggestions remind me of those given to me by housewives who live in gated communities where the poverty, social dissent, and all the other nastinesses of the world are locked out. America, itself, is a gated community as anyone who has driven along the border with Mexico and seen the shanty towns behind the barbed wire-topped hurricane fences knows as a fact. Thomas’s words appeal to those of us who acquire the fantastic products of American society: peace becomes just another product that you pick up and try on when it’s the fashion.
Contrary to the consumer mystique which holds comfort to be the means to peace, the saint realizes that we cannot escape suffering. Here we might review the story of the Buddha, who was moved to his higher spirituality
by leaving such his palace and seeing the suffering of the poor and the destitute first hand. He first sought to hide in a forest. Then, he found enlightenment when he realized that he had to go back to where the people were.
No saint that I know would put the blame for a crisis on the ones who scream because it pricks them. Nor do saints stay silent. Popular lore has made St. Francis into what I call a “fluffy bunny saint” who did nice things for children and animals. The man himself was more complex and certainly not one to keep his mouth shut when he saw injustice. This is a man who took the inner command to “rebuild the Church” far beyond the act of reconstructing a ruined chapel. Francis became what he was because he’d participated in war and had lived affluently. He didn’t just “pray for peace” — he walked barefooted to the Pope to tell him to reform the church and, later, straight to the Ottoman Emperor, with overtures of Christian forgiveness.
Both Francis and the Buddha left the comfortable for the uncomfortable. They realized that things were not perfect and they left pampered lives to do something about it.
Not every person enjoys security. In my blog as of late, I’ve looked around and spoken to the ways in which my own luxury depends on the exploitation of others. I don’t know what my answer is, beyond describing what I see at this time, but “seeing everything as perfect” isn’t going to be it. Visions exist beyond the moment. It is wise to recognize the potential for good in every person, but also, as a saint would, the palpable presence of evil around us and in ourselves.
I reject “positive thinking” as defined by Thomas. Give me Gandhi, Dorothy Day, or Martin Luther King instead. These “troublemakers” lived what some might call contentious lives in that they spoke up when they saw peoples oppressed and wars waged. All three had tempers and all three ranted and raved. All three prayed and sought the good in others, too. These things are not exclusive of one another. The stories of the Buddha and St. Francis, I dare say, prove that an appreciation for the existence of pain is essential to a mind dedicated to peace.
So let me start my counter-suggestions to Thomas with the words that everything is not perfect. You need to understand this as a necessary prerequisite for thoughtful and effective action. Here are my kernels:
We must avoid, for our part as pacifists or proponents of Just War, the error that declaring that we are saved is enough. To be peace-loving, we must not only think peace, we must live and act it. The problem is not anger, frustration, or despair: it is what we do with it. Do we shut it away and act as if it is not so? I think not. We understand the pain, speak to it, and relieve it. We do not allow anyone to cause it. The fine examples come from the lives of the saints of many faiths who have faced the sickness of their fellow men, spoken to it, and yet still loved them.
Dare to doubt that all is well. Dare to believe that things can be better.