Fear and Loathing

I've been angry, lately.

Well, more than lately, but you know what I mean. I suppose I have become one of those "angry bloggers" that you read about in the newspapers. My anger comes from pain and sometimes intense fear, but how it manifests says as much or more about me than about the objects of my anger. And I find myself saying, how can I say things like that?

I was reading Adventus this morning, and at the end of a long and thought-provoking post about human nature and whether there is a need for meaning, he ends with

What life have we if we have not life together? And what does "together" mean, if it doesn't include all of humanity, in an increasingly intertwined, "global village" of a world? We all want to feel good about ourselves. But if Donne was right, and "no man is an island," perhaps no man includes no woman, too; and no child; includes everyone, everywhere. Which is no real solution; not in the real world. But there are worse sins you could commit, than to love your enemy.

Far worse; like to not even try. What kind of meaning would that give your life, to just try, every day, day after day?

Good question. It led me to hunt up his previous posts on loving your enemy, here, here, here, and here.

Folks, he's a better person than I am. I grapple with this issue, and time and time again run into it headlong, with little success.

I look at my last post: "If you accept torture as a valid means of controlling people, rather than as a means of information gathering from a single individual, you are morally bankrupt, and rational people should not waste breath on engaging in debate with you." I believe wholeheartedly that that is true, but who am I to decide that they are beyond redemption?

Evil exists in the world. People are capable of believing evil things, and committing evil acts. Yet, I often am able to separate the evil people do and their innate worth as human beings. But not always.

Part of it is that loving your enemies has fallen out of vogue. Hell, civil public discourse, which is but a frail shadow of loving your enemies, seems to have gone the way of the dodo. Anger towards people is a form of self-protection, political or otherwise. But that allows them power to define you, rather than you defining yourself. You become a mirror of those you hate.

You can see this in the current political scene. The hardest task facing Democrats, as they find their voice, and speak with the anger and passion fueled by what they see happening in the country and around the world, is to stay focused on policies and messages, not on personalities. (Attacks on Ann Coulter's looks are out-of-bounds, forceful objections to her hate-filled speech are not.) While it is neccessary to respond -- and respond forcefully -- to attacks equating opposing the president's unconstitutional wiretapping program with supporting terrorism, e.g., it necessary to do so with strength and calm. (If for no other reason than to do otherwise would be playing right into their hands, as Digby observes.) Otherwise, we run the risk of becoming like the angry voices on the right who are so hate-filled. Contrary to media protrayals, Michael Moore is no Rush Limbaugh or Michael Savage, but it is not beyond the realm of possibility for such a person to come to prominence. To those who claim that it's just not possible, because we believe in tolerance and individual rights and everything good and noble, well, you have more faith in human nature than I do.

It is more complicated than that.

I am opposed to capital punishment. I do not view murderers as monsters, even though I recognize they do great evil. I do not view non-violent racists, sexists or homophobes as irredeemable, even though I recognize that they do great evil. I am angry at what they do, I do not hate them.

Those who support torture, I view as monsters. Those who would silence liberals and others and generally stifle free-speech, I view with deep loathing. Those who advocate physical violence towards gays and lesbians, minorities, or women, I detest.

The difference is fear.

I fear those would silence me. I fear those who pose an actual threat of harm to me or those I love.

I most fear those I am afraid of becoming.

I am in no danger of being tortured. No one I know or love is in danger of being tortured. Yet those Americans who support or encourage torture engender deep disgust and often abject hatred in me. I am afraid of becoming like them, of listening to the siren's song they sing.

The song which says, "if we just do this one intolerable thing," we will be safe. That it is possible to hold at bay mortality. That all it takes is to make that one little concession, place one's personal safety above everything else, and we will not suffer by it. That morals are for the living -- and all bets are off when following them might increase by some small amount your chance of not meeting a violent demise.

Maybe it's not torture -- I've never been tempted to torture anyone. But maybe it's saying it's okay to decimate the Fourth Amendment, as long as we're safe. That it doesn't matter if we hold people without counsel, as long as we don't have to worry at night. That most of all, we don't have to look too hard at what we're doing, that we can turn our heads and pretend that nothing is wrong, because we're talking about national security, right? That we can stop when we want to.

That we won't lose our souls.

And that's what scares me the most, friends. Losing my soul. And sometimes I worry that with all my anger I have lost part of it already.