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Column Creating new ways of being political
By RICH HEFFERN
Vladimir Lenin was once quoted
saying that if he had just 10 of St. Francis of Assisi in his Bolshevik
retinue, he could have taken over and transformed the world. Shrewd political
manipulator that he was, he recognized the unstoppable power of one who prays,
has few needs and talks to birds.
Most folks imagine spirituality and politics in bed together --
and shudder. Horrors! Here come the self-righteous with that otherworldly glaze
over their eyes punching salvation tickets in the name of a white bread Jesus.
Or, worse, here come the blissed-out New-Agers with their past-lives and
hotlines to Atlantean beings with too many vowels in their names, visualizing
world peace. Or, maybe we see leftist ideologues, little red books in hand,
forcing all and sundry out of the cities to rake potatoes, shooting the
eyeglass-wearers in the back of the head for good measure.
Lets face it, both spirituality and politics come with loads
of controversial baggage and are two of the three things one is not supposed to
talk about at dinner parties. We are wary of their alliance for good
reasons.
Yet we look at the appalling disarray around us on the political
scene. We prepare to vote again for whichever candidate seems the lesser of two
evils, after long campaigns that seem like exercises in make-believe and phony
imagery. Deeply uneasy in the increasingly lonely voting booth, we get little
light or heat from our mainstream media or church.
Sam Smith, author of The Great American Political Repair
Manual: How to Rebuild Our Country So the Politics Arent Broken and the
Politicians Arent Fixed, puts it this way. About the most
important job of a democracy, next to serving its people, is to make sure it
stays a democracy. Governments that rely on the consent of the governed --
rather than, say, on tanks and prisons -- particularly require constant
tending. Smith points out that we could easily become the first people in
history to lose democracy and its constitutional freedoms simply because we
have forgotten what they are about. Caring for democracy is important, yes.
Could it be that its also a spiritual path -- and a truly American
one?
It was the monk Thomas Merton, a man of prayer and few needs, who
first pointed out to so many of us that one could lead a contemplative,
politically engaged life. Mertons enduring appeal owes, I believe, to the
convergence in him of three strong rivers: 1) his willingness to engage in the
divisive issues of his day; 2) his rich, complex, imaginative inner life
revealed in his writings (it was this very richness that led him outward); and
3) his passion about and commitment to spiritual traditions as a way to heal
both self and the world.
If he were with us (hed be 85 now), hed probably still
be the passionately engaged contemplative who wrote this in the 1960s:
The long-term goals of the human race (to establish a society based on
love, mutual respect and solidarity) have become the short-term survival
requirements for the planet and the human race. Merton knew that we need
the kin-dom of God now more than ever.
Instead, what we have is the shortsighted politics of muscle,
greed and cynicism and growing numbers fleeing the political process.
Weve had it with a government out of touch and incapable of solving
problems creatively, with having to choose between candidates both of whom
seem, at worst, totally bought off by corporate campaign contributors and, at
best, lacking the mettle to steer us forward to meet the awesome challenges
ahead. Money not only talks, its the only way to become a
candidate, thereby attracting exactly the wrong people. Increasingly, its
oligarchy v. democracy, the rule of the wealthy against the rule of the
people.
But this sorry state of affairs could not happen without
widespread apathy and disconnection on our end. To end it, we will need further
efforts like campaign finance reform, legislated limits on corporate power,
together with alternative parties that force the dominant parties to face
issues rather than hurl barbs at one another. We will surely need to reinvent
those middle-level connections between the electorate and our leaders, a
function once served by trade unions, civic organizations, even churches. We
have lost the old framework for political life and need to fashion a whole new
one, making democracy a daily reality and exercise for us all. This wont
come from the top down but somehow from the bottom up. Even with the amazing
new instruments of the information age at our disposal, it wont be easy.
Opposition to moneyed interests, for example, must be tough yet understanding
at the same time, requiring activists, naysayers and prayful people who are
both wise as serpents and innocent as doves.
It was Merton who introduced the concept of guilty bystanders,
useful in a country like ours that is always deeply conflicted about the role
religion or spirituality should play in democratic life. Merton liked to
challenge his readers, urging that the contemplative life is a process of
discovering the Holy Spirit always in new, unexpected places. He
was convinced that political decisions are key events in the spiritual life,
that taking sides in crucial, prophetic issues that are the moral touchstones
of our day are the activities wherein prayerful living bears full and
effective fruit. In his day, these moral knots were found in the civil rights
struggle, in the Vietnam War and in the nuclear arms race. Now they live,
arguably, in the globalization of our economies, in corporate mergers and
layoffs, in moneyed control of politics, in racial, class and gender issues, in
the need for a consistent regard for life from conception to the grave and for
economic democracy.
Tall order to remedy these? Indeed, but our spiritual traditions
have much to offer. Without a sense of hope and creative possibility, without
ways to continually renew ourselves, to sustain courage and resolve, we cannot
speak truth to power, discern, create new ways of being political, or hang in
there for the long haul. Recognizing and fostering intimacy with the sacred
dimension in every aspect of our life, we can counter that voice that says no
better world is possible. It is in deep solitude and silence [Merton
again], that I find the gentleness with which to love my brothers and
sisters.
John Rensenbrink is a political scientist and was a candidate for
the U.S. Senate from Maine in 1996. He writes: There is a silence, a very
palpable silence, which you feel before you know its there. It yawns
across the great valley of our politics, from left to right, from up to down.
The silence concerns the actual state of our politics and the imperative need
for someone, or somebodies, to seek its transformation in a serious and
responsible way. The silence is puzzling for a country that prides itself
on its credentials as one of the worlds leading democracies, born in
revolution and nourished on constitutional history. Indeed the silence is
deafening.
Rich Heffern is the former editor of Praying magazine
and a frequent contributor to NCR. His e-mail address is
Tinseltigr@aol.com
National Catholic Reporter, October 20,
2000
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