Linguistic Conceptions of Love and Idenity

This essay is the culmination of a semester's study of identity in my MA program on Conflict Transformation. I realized that it became a bit of a personal manifesto of belief as well. Identity does reach to the core of who we are, so that would seem to be a natural route for a reflection on the topic.  

     Whenever I'm asked about my religious beliefs, I say that love is the ultimate. I respond that love is God, which is one example of where my beliefs coincide with The Bible. We can see the thread of love in the makeup of all the world's great traditions, but is it enough to say that "I believe in love" and leave it at that? I say no, as not only will there be different ways of applying and defining love, but the universal nature of that small word opens up an entire new language that we can use; and much like language in the broader sense, love creates its own concepts by the very fact of its existence. It gives shape and clarity to everything that is. Its universal nature requires it to, and because of all that it envelops, "love" can seem impossible to harness into something neat and compact that we can categorize in our minds. There is a need to contextualize and explain what we mean when referring to love as related to identity.

     

     Perhaps then it is best to see how love looks in various situations. One of my favorite quotations comes from Cornel West (2010) when he says that "justice is what love looks like in public". There is so much in that statement, including something unsaid: that love takes on a different "look" depending on context. So how then does love manifest itself in issues of identity? Better, what are some of the words and/or statements that we use in this love language of identity? Looking back on a semester, I can see where my worldview of love as the ultimate has found itself enhanced by new additions to my vocabulary. These new words/concepts have sparked corresponding new ideas and potential ways to enact love in our world. It has created new entry points to tap into the energy described so well by Pierre Tielhard De Chardin - who portrays my metaphysical conceptions best - when he sees love as an energy of attraction or coming together of consciousness, humanity, knowledge and biology in a process of evolution that will ultimately culminate in "God" (Chardin, 1976). So, let's look at love as it appears in some of the words we associate with identity. 

Love and identity as dignity

     In my reading of Donna Hicks, I have not seen her name it as such, but her message is consistent with the idea that dignity is the essence of ourselves that is at base inseparable from and a part of universal love. It is where love resides in the individual, and tapping into that essence comes about through a process of self-reflection and discovery. Once we are able to see it in ourselves, then we can see it in others. This ability to see that internal space where love resides in humanity allows us to see true identity. I appreciate how she teaches us that dignity is not part of basic human needs, it is part of basic human essence. To deny someone's dignity is to deny their humanity (Hicks, 2011).

      From my own experience, I have found that it's when I'm most violent to myself that I'm violent to others (that is not to say physically violent, but violent in words/thoughts). It's when I'm least capable of overlooking personal faults that I'm also incapable of overlooking faults in others, and I tend to make sure the other knows about whatever "wrong" they've done in my eyes. My vision has been blocked in those moments. I fail to focus on the truly human and instead pick out external conditions and tie them to the person's identity. I have not placed dignity at the forefront in these situations, and because of this I identify myself and others in relation to the external or a particular context, instead of seeing a human in the midst of and irrespective of a context. Yes, we exist in relation to the world, but in and of ourselves we are still autonomous humans defined by the very dignity that is often denied by others. We learn from those others, and denying their humanity is to deny our own.

Love and identity as mimetic desire

     

     Vern Redekop (2002) gives shape to a concept we all use called mimetic desire. We learn to relate to the world by sent and received messages and signals in relation to others and through imitating positive responses that meet our needs, including the needs around identity. Mimetic desire or the desire to imitate can be positive or negative, but at base it is a desire for connection to something we see in the other. Redekop argues that what we are looking to connect with is at the very essence of what it means to be human, and it is here that I would agree. Notice the consistency with the other aspects of love which we've already addressed, such as Chardin's love energy working through evolution to bring us into tighter relation and consciousness as inter-connected humanity. Also, the desire to reach the essence of the human is the desire for dignity which is inseparable from essence.

     Redekop himself refers often to dignity, and it's concomitant element of autonomy. Both Redekop and Hicks are consistent in their descriptions of the seeming tension between the dual needs of individuation and integration. This tension is not so difficult to resolve when love as the mimetic as brought in. What we desire in imitating the other is that which defines us all as humans. It can be as simple as learning the appropriate way to dress or as complex as connections at the deepest emotional level. Thus, once we attain those desires/needs, we are then fully realized in our individuated humanity while at the same time we have achieved connection with the humanity around us. The two cannot be separated, as seemingly disparate as individuation/integration look at first glance.

     This makes sense when we continue to keep in mind that love is universal. Therefore ultimate love would by nature be fully capable of realization in the whole or part of the whole. However, the part only retains identity in relation to the whole. Identity cannot happen in a vacuum. There must be a relation in order for the individual to stand out or identify to humanity. If humanity or larger societies were universally homogenous, there would be no individual identity as there would be nothing to relate to. Love as mimetic desire fulfills the need for relation and autonomy in its healthiest manifestation by allowing us to be truly present witnesses through an awareness of others and how we identify in a continuous give and take. Thus the individual continues to combine and work towards higher levels of consciousness, unity and love by having their needs fulfilled while at the same time offering back to others those parts of one's self which we are able to give. In this way, mimetic desire works in all areas of the human experience and makes clear why healthy self-care and knowledge is inseparable from the love of others.

Love and identity as biology 

      I have already referred to Chardin's metaphysical paradigm of evolution as love, but I want to expand on that idea a bit and bring in thoughts of biologist Mary Clark as well. The idea of evolution as love and what that means for our identity is a profound departure from the normal discourse of evolution as natural selection. Both Chardin and Clark argue that we have evolved into beings that are by nature social and not competitive. 

      Clark (2002) takes this somewhat novel idea of evolution as a point of departure and argues that our minds are essentially "meaning-making" organs (p. 62). She illustrates this by showing us how language itself has evolved out of relationship in that it is a shared system of making sense of the world. It is through coming together that we come to a greater knowledge simply by the mere fact that we have a common basis for understanding in linguistic terms. This is a refreshing departure from survival of the fittest as a paradigm for increased intelligence. How often have we seen the power of ideas in a group of thinkers being superior to the individual, even if that individual has a higher singular intelligence than any one member of the group? 

     This is but one example of what I take from Clark in that biological evolution is a relation of love, and that the coming together of cells mimics the coming together of humanity. At this point, we enter into the metaphysical, as we cannot see the end of our evolutionary road. Chardin posits that the ebbs and flows of power structures, the errors and violence, the love and hatred are but the normal process of humanity's evolution towards the highest or ultimate realized for him in Christ and for me in love.

     Chardin died before the invention of the internet, but the advancement of technology is another example of evolution at work, and a form of evolution that unites us rather than separates us. Further, It is from imperfections in learning to deal with new and unfamiliar others - and their corresponding identities - that violence can occur. As technology makes the world smaller, we are facing new challenges of how to continue to come together. But Clark argues that it is in our nature to be social beings, and in this I find agreement with her. It is natural to unite, and the violent reactions we see in our world when diverse identities first engage in the trial and error process of unity are a result of earlier evolutionary processes that form the makeup of our individual cells. To continue to evolve, the human as organism will "learn" that going with the grain of the universe means learning to unite, not divide. Their evolution is centered around the ultimate goodness at the heart humanity, which I call love/divinity.

     So as Redekop (2002) and Clark (2002) both point out, we have evolved towards self-preservation, but when we bring that idea together with Chardin's ultimate metaphysic of combined humanity-as-one, we see that the self-preservation will eventually reach to a much greater macro level than anything previously envisioned. For in the end we individual humans, now seen as a whole in and of ourselves, will become - and in many ways already have become - the makeup of a higher form of life, much like the individual cells which make up our bodies.

     

     This evolutionary energy of love that drives life at all levels is what we must learn to tap into as we become ever more physically closer on this planet. This is my conception of becoming closer to divinity - working towards the divinity in ourselves as united with others - and this is where I see and understand the Christian concept of God in man as Christ. This vision of Christ as the ultimate evolution - which is the true view of Chardin and all Christians - is really a vision of the highest stage of humanity and consciousness. Our identity and purpose as humans is to be part of the greater whole that is driven by love. So, to me, love and Christ are inseparable, and to say that I believe in love would also carry a form of belief in Christ, but additionally would include other energies of love that can be seen in Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, etc. All are attempts to identify humans as tied to this energy of love, and that's why I cling to love as the ultimate force and God of the universe.

     Additionally, since all humanity contains the grain of divinity within their very biological essence, then is it too far of a stretch - given all that we've discussed thus far - to envision different autonomous expressions of God in the diversity that is the makeup of humanity? To take it further, isn't it this diversity contained within an even larger whole that will culminate in God? Cannot this God then be diverse as a part of its makeup? Does this not mean then that the energy of love is great enough to be all-inclusive and uniting and even has a destiny to unite? I say yes, and these questions are the kinds that I've grappled with in my own mind in attempts to make sense of the metaphysical. Furthermore, they are all directly related to the very core of who we are as humans, and how we identify with the universe and particularly the "others" around us.

Love and identity as politics

     At first glance, you the reader might think this statement oxymoronic. Politics is traditionally thought of in terms of governments, deal-making and power struggles. Yes, this is a part of politics, but Kenneth Hoover (1997) reminds us that there are power dynamics in any human relationship. If we are alive, we have power, and therefore power is a part of our identity. It cannot be ignored and it cannot be avoided, so awareness of the critical importance that power carries in human identity is crucial to our further evolution and survival.

     Interactions of power-containing individuals and societies, in Hoover's conception, are meant to draw off of the same energy of love that we've been discussing. Proper use of power as political relations is pragmatic application of the energy of love. Politics also encompasses far more than the macro government level. Politics is human relations. Therefore for these relations to remain healthy rather than self-destructive to our species, we need to focus on providing the kind of environments that will contribute to mimetic exchanges that allow diversity, tolerance and equanimity. Stifling mimetic desire as described by Redekop (2002) is to try to counter-act the process of evolution. Eventually this is doomed to failure if we accept everything posited thus far, yet this is what many governmental power structures attempt to do in our world today.

Love and identity as revolution

     Further, it is the stifling of these rich mimetic exchanges, in their ideal form, that becomes a threat to identity and is a direct contributor to violence. This is easily perceived when we remember that mimetic desires help define and shape our identity, and to be aware of our identity is to be aware of our dignity. When governments or power structures establish environments that try to homogenize or restrict this identity formation, they are also engaging in an indirect or direct denial of human dignity. Those subjected to this denial will often rebel and become violent, and these environments are the atmospheres from which revolutions are born.

     Granted, revolutions are not necessarily a bad thing, and much like the evolution of humanity, they can be seen as an evolution of the conditions that contribute to the positive evolvement of human structures of power. The problem is in the violence. Revolution by nature does not equal violence, but it of course often includes it. Revolution at base is about change, and the kind of change that revolutions work towards is to bring conditions that not only provide room for human dignity to shine, but to enhance and grow the dignity of humans; ultimately, it's about increasing awareness in the lives of the oppressor that the oppressed are claiming back their identity. This may sound like some grand statement, but isn't any revolution a progression, which is born out of a desire that a certain group has to elevate their worth as humans?

    

     While I cannot endorse the methods of a Che Guevara, he did capture the essence of revolution in his statement "at the risk of sounding absurd, a true revolutionary is motivated by love for the people" (Franklin, Hsu & Kosanke, 2000, p. 20). What I find admirable about Che's writings is that he was seemingly driven by the lack of dignity that he recognized in his fellow Latin Americans. He had seen how the machinations of power and imperialism had de-humanized the people with which he identified, and he felt this de-humanization in his deepest core essence. Ultimately, he identified himself as one of those people which the power structures of the Northern Hemisphere, particularly the United States, were oppressing.

     I am convinced that Che's revolutionary motivations were as much an effort to restore his own dignity as they were to elevate the dignity of others. His methods became extreme, and he acted violently to keep the revolutionary movement progressing forward. This I can no longer agree with, although there was a time when I did. However, I have come to a greater empathy of the reasons for the actions of a Che Guevara, or at least the actions of the Che that I've read about and that has been presented to me through Cuban and other leftist literature.

     Che's actions as presented were an effort to restore equality and dignity in all people. Theoretically, this is the message of Marxists everywhere. However, the dark side of power inserts itself into dialectic materialism by not acknowledging the fact that one power class ends up replacing another. A purely Marxist message is not one of equanimity and dignity for all humanity, it's only for those who were formerly oppressed. If the Marxist revolution succeeds - at least in the real world outside of Marxist literature - the oppressed becomes the oppressor.

Love and identity as divine revolution

     We can see from the preceding statement how identity can instantly take on a different form when conditions are not created for the proper dignity of all, including the former oppressors. When this happens then we as the greater body of humanity have arrived at the position we held before the revolution. The death and violence involved in the cleansing of the old guard has done nothing to advance the evolution of the new guard. The new guard has separated itself from the greater body by attempting to elevate itself above the previous oppressor. This separation from the larger body of humanity is a form of identity loss, and is akin to a branch being separated from a tree. By refusing to recognize the dignity of the whole, the dignity of the part is lost as well. As previously mentioned, the part can only maintain its identity in relation to the whole.

     However, divine revolution, the revolution that goes with the energy of love recognizes the dignity of all and must by that fact alone be a revolution of non-violence. For how else can we respect our common human dignity but to remain non-violent? Any form of violence is at base a de-humanization. It is a judgment placed on a particular human life, stating that in this situation that human no longer has a place in the greater body of humanity. It is a denial of dignity - of identity at its very foundation - which is the identity of being human.

    

     Revolutionaries such as Jesus, Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., Dorothy Day, Cornel West and many others, like Che Guevara have also fought for the oppressed. But they have done so in a way that keeps the dignity of the oppressor intact. For the revolution means nothing if it is not universal, and for it to be universal it is absolutely necessary to stop the cycle of violence not later, but now. Forgiveness is necessary to restore the dignity of the oppressor, and it is necessary for the restoration of the dignity of the oppressed. The bond comprising the greater human identity has been ruptured in situations of oppression, and to restore it both parties must be reconciled. Forgiveness by the oppressed is at the base of this process as well as the acknowledgment of the rupture committed on the part of the oppressor.

Concluding remarks

     In addition to the methods above, I'd like to close this reflection on the love language of identity by stating that love and identity are also knowledge and awareness. Love grows out of knowledge and awareness. Anything we as individual autonomous members can do to increase our awareness extends itself to the whole through the mimetic exchanges with which we are constantly engaged. We have no choice but to intervene in our world, as the very essence of being human is to interact. Even an inaction is still an action.

     Therefore, when we increase our own awareness, we work towards increasing the awareness of others. At the same time, we cannot increase our awareness separated from others. Awareness, like human existence itself, is individuated yet integrated. Without a cultural base, a frame of reference, linguistic terms to make sense of what's around us, and interactions with others, whether it be in print or in person, our awareness is nothing; it is a vacuum. Even the contemplatives, monks, Buddhists and other ascetics are ultimately trying to tap into the same divine universal energy of love that we all seek and find in ourselves and through our relations with others. Their seemingly isolated search is actually a very intense process of reaching towards the whole. Those who are able to achieve the feeling of ultimate connection of being at one with the universe have tapped into divinity. They have found love, and they are now speaking its language. May we all work towards finding this connection in our lives, for there is no truer way to define our identity than through love.

References

Chardin, P. T. (1976). Activation of energy: enlightening reflections on spiritual energy. New York: Harcourt, Inc.
Clark, M. E. (2002). In search of human nature. New York: Routledge.
Franklin, C., Hsu, R., & Kosanke, S. (2000). Literary studies east and west: navigating islands and continents: conversations and contestations in and around the pacific. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.
Guevara, C., & Deutschmann, D. (2003). Che guevara reader. Melbourne, Australia: Ocean Press.
Hicks, D. (2011). Dignity: the essential role it plays in resolving conflict. New Haven: Yale University Press.
Hoover, K., Marcia, J., & Parris, K. (1997). The power of identity: politics in a new key. Chatham, NJ: Chatham House Publishers, Inc.
Redekop, V. N. (2002). From violence to blessing: how an understanding of deep-rooted conflict can open paths to reconciliation. Ottawa, Canada: Novalis.
West, C. (2010). Brother west: living and loving out loud, a memoir. New York: Smiley Books.

An Anabaptist Heritage

When I began my radio career, I was told to imagine that I was talking to a single person, conversationally.  The “singular” person would ideally be the stereotype of the target demographic the radio station was hoping to attract.  For example, in Las Vegas, the prime audience for our advertisers was females between the ages of 18-34.  So my ideal imaginary listener was probably a 25 year old female, single, fun-loving, without children. 

                Over the years, this form of vocal delivery became second nature, and if I was to think of an image of the person to whom I was speaking, it would be vague, indistinguishable, faceless and nameless.  The sociologist George Herbert Mead came up with the concept of the “Generalized Other”, which might be an apt description, for even though I was talking to a single person, that person represented the common understanding of all other individuals just like her, so there was a universal element to my delivery.  Language obviously was central to this universality; however there was no true individuality, either from me or reciprocated from my audience.  Everyone in this exchange engaged in a layer of culture that was superficial and concentric, for although I was talking to one person, I was also talking to society at large, in the language of that society (Collins, 1994) (Connolly, 2002). 

Radio and media attempt to turn the concentric around and bring the superficial or surface elements of culture back to the individual, instead of out from the individual.  Either way, this paradigm is illusory to authentic identity.  I cannot possibly reveal any sort of my true nature through this mode of communication, nor can the listener learn anything about her identity through the reception of this message from the radio.  However, if it is the authentic that one is attempting to avoid, then media, entertainment and other forms of escapism are the perfect avenues. 

The example of my past career is a part of a narrative, a layer of my narrative, therefore a part of me, but only on a surface level.  William E. Connolly talks about layers of perception, thinking and culture, while James McClendon refers to narrative ethics as being the only true way to see morality; that is, to see it as a story.  I find no dissonance in combining the two concepts in the form of narratives having their own layers.  Perhaps the media/career aspect of my life was an outer layer, one that was most susceptible to adjustments from the elements.  It was unprotected, constantly changing, having no real substance, completely transparent (Connolly, 2002) (McClendon, 2002). 

An Anabaptist Heritage

This essay is an attempt to articulate the process in which I now find myself; the process of returning to the innermost layers of my narrative to define what living a good, ethical life means to me in the context of the part of the universal from which my story is shaped.  I am learning to acknowledge my heritage, my Anabaptist heritage, because I have reached a point where that acknowledgement no longer frightens me.  It has become painfully obvious to me that the main reason people run from true identity is the perceived sacrifices that they believe they might have to make if they peel back their layers.  The outermost protection that they think they have is often the most harmful element of their lives.  This is where we start to hear clichés about the difficulty of leaving one’s “comfort zone”. 

When Christ talked about denying self, he wasn’t referring to the denial of who we are, he was trying to help us remove the construct of society, the caricature, the costume, the distortion, that was covering up our true identity.  It was only in that discovery of identity that the divine could be found, and therefore the love that could be extended to others.  Some traditions, such as Hinduism, may refer to this in different ways, such as the removal of the ego standing in the way of Atman.  Understanding heritage in the context of narrative is to understand a part of the life-giving process.

Heritage clearly has a tie to the past, but what is that tie?  Isn’t it a coming out of an endless set of contexts, going further and further back, an eternal sense of the ever present now that transforms into the future?  Our role in the heritage is to take the past as a starting point, a grounding and a place where we’ve grown out of the universal God /grain of life, and then transform that past into the present where we find the embodied self. 

Heritage and Ethics

At Eastern Mennonite University, studying under Dr. Christian Early, I was told that “the better we understand who we are, the more grounded our ethics will be” (Early C., Ethics Lecture, 2010).  There is a tension in that statement, a conflict of opposites, because self-discovery through a look at heritage will involve pain as well as pleasure.  But pain, adversity, uncertainty, even suffering, are often necessary parts of forward movement, for they create questions, and it is through questioning that we discover. 

This discovery of self, at any level, can only be navigated by the embodied self.  Referencing Antonio Damasio, the feelings and emotions that influence and guide us are received through the body, but I must question from where they originate (Damasio, 2003).  Could many of these feelings arrive out of the body itself, out of a past life?  I’m not referring to reincarnation, but to the connection that heritage brings into our lives.  To state this in a somewhat scientific manner, we embody the genetics of our heritage; we carry the blood of those who came before and their actual DNA.  Traced back far enough, we could even say that we are the embodied community of all humanity.  The parallels between the universal soul/consciousness/Atman/Brahman/Allah/God and this embodiment are not to be missed. 

Recently, I’ve been especially interested in my mother’s family, as the mother symbol has fascinated me in the process of personal study and discovery.  Carl Jung was the one who opened my eyes to the effect of the anima, the female/mother archetype in the mind, and the role that it plays in a life narrative.  I’ve always been aware that my mother’s lineage has provided me with the greatest family mentor figures in my life, even though I do realize that this is not the case for everyone.  However, the insights of Jung, and the further ideas of attachment theory as introduced to me by AnneMarie Early, have only increased my focus on the maternal (Jung, 1976) (Early A., 2010).  My mother’s maiden name is Jantzi, and her mother’s maiden name is Swartz.  Both families came out of the Alsace Lorraine region of Europe/Switzerland.  The Swartz were Jewish, and it is only recently that I’ve realized my bloodline connection to the Jewish people.  It was in the 1700’s that the Swartz converted to the Amish lifestyle to avoid the rampant Anti-Semitism that has had varying degrees of intensity in Europe for hundreds of years.    From the Amish, they gradually evolved their thinking to the identifiably Anabaptist tradition that we know today.  Despite hoping to escape persecution for their Jewish beliefs, they encountered it anyway with their pacifistic Anabaptist stance (Swartz). 

So, my mother’s parents met and married in the context of a close knit community of Anabaptists that included the Swartz and Jantzi people.  These people had traveled to America together, and set up a life and a style of worship together.  It is said that they were known to “share earthly possessions, as well as joys and sorrows” (Swartz).  They were a people who loved life, and knew how to work hard and intelligently, while desiring to better the world around them. 

A Narrative of Service

The restless energy of service is evident in my more recent family history.  I remember my grandparents as being full of the kind of life and laughter that can only come out of that knowledge of the self that desires to care for the humanity of the other.  This energy was transferred to their children, and is evident in my mother, who has served as a nurse, pastoral counselor, and care-giver to her parents at their life’s end, as well as to my sister and I in our youth, and most recently to me as an adult following my near-fatal car accident.  My mother’s work has always poured out of a life filled with the highest of moral standards, love and the desire to work for people rather than the material.  This is a common theme throughout my maternal family narrative. 

The energy of service is evident in my mother’s brother, Vernon Jantzi, who is a familiar name and figure on the Eastern Mennonite University campus and community, as well as the various communities with which he has participated through his years with Mennonite Central Committee.  Vernon has taken on the role of a sage figure to me.  He embodies all that is good about the Anabaptist tradition, and is a model as to what it means to live out, through the powerful practices of virtue spoken of by McClendon, a morally upright ethical life; one that has to be taken as a narrative to be understood (McClendon, 2002).  His direct actions for peace, such as his work to help establish the Center for Justice and Peacebuilding on EMU’s campus, resonates both forward, back and horizontally in his own heritage.  By horizontally, I mean that his peaceful actions are congruent.  His narrative is consistent, authentic, and reflects his own path to discovery through heritage.  His various roles of uncle, husband, father, grandfather, teacher, mentor, scholar, leader, activist, university administrator and advisor are all in line with a universal love ethic.  He is a man who knows himself, in the truest sense of knowledge. 

My mother’s sister Sharon and Sharon’s husband Herb show a similar narrative in their lives.  They have a passion for the African continent, and their children were born in Ethiopia during their nearly two decades of service to that country.  Their approach to missions, like Vernon’s has never been of the “beneficiary” mentality; meaning they don’t practice a mission characteristic of hubris.  They look to learn from others more than they hope to teach others. 

This humility in service recognizes what McClendon refers to as “Perspectivism”, which I interpret as a humble pluralistic acceptance and acknowledgment of different shades on what comprises truth.  It is a realization that the truth cannot be simply implanted into the narrative of those whom we’re serving, but must be looked for out of that narrative of the other (McClendon, 2002).  I believe it was Mohandas Gandhi who once said that we should hold others to the highest standard of their own traditions.  I don’t think Gandhi meant for the truth to be relativistic, but that we should recognize and validate the ethical narrative of those we encounter.  This recognition of pluralistic narratives can only come out of a security with our own narrative, so when we practice Gandhi’s principle, we practice self-discovery and a discovery of the other.  This is an ethic of community, a multi-sided narrative of life. 

A Love Lesson

I agree with the idea that the primary narrative of humanity is a love story.  I credit Dr. Christian Early with that idea, and its corollary of the tragic element in love.  The past couple of years have seen numerous life-shaping rifts in time (spoken of by Connolly) that have revealed tragedy in my own narrative, but through the tragedy has come a greater love and awareness (Connolly, 2002).  One rift, which I have mentioned in a previous writing, was a near-fatal car accident in the summer of 2009.  Another rift was a unique intellectual awakening that I can clearly see in hindsight as I look back on the spring of 2010.  It was a period where I encountered the writings of Richard Rohr, and was introduced to the concept of mystical non-dualism for the first time (Rohr, 2009).  That rift was followed by the discarding of labels and beliefs that were blocking my own vision of identity.  There was a great deal of clarity immediately following my car accident.  There was a great deal more with that second rift this past spring.  Both rifts involved a letting go, and I’ve found that the more I can discard attachments, the more I am able to comprehend concepts, ideas, history, knowledge, and the more I am enabled in the examination of heritage. 

In a way, I may have more questions now than I’ve ever had in my life, but I consider that a sign that I’m able to name what I’m trying to answer.  When, for example, I’m able to recognize and therefore question why I’ve always been restless, I can look to the heritage of my family narrative for some of the answers.  Perhaps the restlessness, pain, struggle and redemption of the Jewish people is encoded in my DNA.  The Jews are a historically restless people both literally and figuratively, but they have also been commanded and called out by God to an ethical narrative that incorporates love, service, and humility.  The idea of homeland is very important to them, but it is something that has been evasive and insecure throughout their history.  Now, we can see their pain exemplified in a tragic way by their desperate struggle to retain their homeland by the harming of others.  This goes against the divine, and will only involve more tragedy in their cultural narrative unless they can learn to recognize that their calling out does not place them on a morally, ethically or physically superior level to the rest of humanity, but requires them to be an example of how to practice validation and recognition of all who live. 

No longer do I run from who I am.  Now, I embrace my heritage, on all sides of my family.  I have given a slight glimpse into my maternal past as it is with me on the path I’m currently walking.  I am becoming ever more aware of the pull that service has on me, and I can observe the next part of my story taking shape.  It wasn’t and isn’t inevitable that this story would or will turn out positive.  I fully place myself and my idea of God in a paradigm with no deep structure.  I like the idea that “God” is what holds the intention of the universe, but not the agenda.   And yes, I can see that we are fundamentally a result of our connections (Early C., Ethics Lecture, 2010).  Heritage is a starting point, not an ending point.  Heritage is not a definition.  Heritage is a place where we’re grounded in the divine.  Heritage is the root planted in Krishna, Brahman, Allah, God, Yahweh.  

References

Collins, R. (1994). four sociological traditions. New York: Oxford University Press.

Connolly, W. E. (2002). Neuropolitics: thinking, culture, speed. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

Damasio, A. (2003). Lookng for spinoza: joy, sorrow, and the feeling brain. Orlando: Harcourt, Inc.

Early, A. (Performer). (2010, December 6). Attachment Theory Lecture. Eastern Mennonite University, Harrisonburg, Virginia, USA.

Early, C. (Performer). (2010, December 10). Ethics Lecture. Eastern Mennonite University, Harrisonburg, Virginia, USA.

Early, C. (Performer). (2010, December 1). Ethics Lecture. Eastern Mennonite University, Harrisonburg, Virginia, USA.

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An Inconvenient Hero

In one of my Peace and Justice classes at EMU, we have been diving into the concepts of nonviolence practiced by MLK and Gandhi.  Here is a response I wrote on an essay/chapter titled "The Inconvenient Hero" by Vincent K. Harding.  I would highly recommend Harding's writings on King.  Not only was he a close friend of MLK, but he refuses to gloss over any uncomfortable parts of MLK's message.  He is the perfect writer to ask the tough questions and to keep King's true memory alive. 


     “Who dares re-call this man, when all the plagues he fought are still among us, standing in the way of ‘the America we hope to be’:  racism, militarism, materialism…is he safely dead?  Perhaps we should re-call him and see.  Now.  Perhaps in the process we may learn again how to live – unsafely, in love with God and neighbor, with cleansing, purifying fire, with the America that is YET to be created – by us.”

     Vincent K. Harding spoke these words in his chapter on Martin Luther King Jr. called “The Inconvenient Hero”.   Harding uses powerful language…the language of King…to remind us that the memory of the dead becomes distorted when they are no longer there.  Words can be picked at will, manipulated and used for shameless agendas, reduced to 10 second sound bites that become palatable to an American public that wants to be comfortable…a public that does not want to move or inconvenience itself to practice any true principles of love and justice.  A public that does not inform itself, that does not become angry with righteous just indignation at a war-crazed government killing people all around the world.  No one can tell Harding otherwise, and no one can tell me otherwise.  If we were upset enough, we would have the power to demand that the injustices of this nation come to an end.  A united America of justice-demanding citizens could force this insanity to stop.  We don't, however, because we are divided amongst ourselves...just as the structures of power would have it.  This may sound harsh, but upon reading Harding’s chapter, this same fire against injustice burned in Martin Luther King Jr., especially during the last years of his life…the life that he ended up offering as payment for those beliefs.

      King was becoming radicalized.  King’s focus was starting to become world centered, humanity centered, broadened beyond the borders of America.  King realized that all of humanity was part of the same unity.  National boundaries mattered no longer.  The American “dream” (that more and more was looking utopian) was bigger than the dream of a nation, it was a dream that encompassed the entire world.  It was a dream that had become a nightmare.  King said as much himself…before Vietnam even started…when he was referring to the children killed during the church bombing in Montgomery, Alabama.  King went on to call our country “the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today.”  Not much has changed in the 4 + decades since.

     Martin Luther King Jr. was a prophet.  Prophets are often not welcome in their homeland.  Remember a man named Jesus?  Prophets are the kind of people who grate, who do not compromise, who face indignation, condemnation, and assassination.  Prophets are inconvenient and uncomfortable to listen to.  They hear all the time that they should “tone things down a bit”.  King heard this often.  The toughest part for King was that he heard it from some of his closest friends.  What has marked the great leaders like King, like Gandhi, is that they do not back down from their mission.  They are determined in their actions, because they have their vision focused on love, justice and nonviolence at all times.  They know that to go with the grain of the universe is to go with the divine.  They will not be talked down, and they will not back down.  They represent the alienated, the voiceless, and this means being outside of society and involves nonconformity to the ways of a profoundly sick society.  Until all are treated equal, none are equal.

     Harding says that “those who are serious about re-calling King must therefore be serious, too, about the risks of his company, his unexpurgated company.”  The question that Harding has for us is this:  Are we willing to REALLY embrace this “national hero” who has a politically correct holiday named after him?  If we are, then we need to embrace his complete message…the message that called America to account for its injustices and demanded that it live up to the “dream” that it professed (and professes) to be about.  Who will stand in the place of King?