A Foul Wind Bloweth

I have grown weary of ideology. I have seen so many friends grow angry and sullen over the affairs of state in this country. I suspect that my new found aversion to this ongoing dialogue will seem to others to be weak, perhaps lacking principle. Why is it that I have lost my passion for debate over how the government performs? The arguments du jour, once intriguing, leave me tired. Perhaps it is because the joy of repartee, the spirit of lively debate, has become the incessant drumbeat of war.

Indeed, it is a war for the minds of men and it is being waged in all venues for social discourse. The fervid act of some new discovery leaves men breathless, sometimes incensed at the outcomes of the advise and consent process that results in outcomes they cannot abide by. Some of the diatribe has become rabid, even virulent. This new level of anger is not exclusive to any party nor is it limited to the extremists (the usual suspects). It is being displayed by anyone and everyone whose primary motivation seems to be in blaming someone or something for their feeling of hopelessness. The term "loyal opposition" is now rather, "the fools who stand on the other side - who disagree with me." For those in power, every one of their words is parsed, every look dissected frame by frame, every decision second-guessed ad nauseum.

Most days, I silently hope that I will hear nothing of this war. It is as if my soul has taken up residence in a hidden room, waiting fearfully for the sound of jackboots at the door. I can only crouch behind my stony silence wishing for nothing more than the simple sounds of nature, the gentle caress of my wife and maybe just the absence of contentiousness. In the evening, I sip an interesting Spanish wine and in my solitude, I yearn for fond conversations and small talk among friends. But, alas, there is no middle ground for the zealot, no synthesis of mutual interests, no hope for an agreement - only the divide.

I am fatigued with this petulant whining. Maybe it is the natural effects of aging. I can remember my seething discontent at those who disagreed with me in decades past. It angered me then to think that there were those around me who had missed the whole point of the truth - a truth I clung to with a fierce grip, ready to expound upon at the drop of a hat. The reality is, as I've learned, truth is a moving target. Rather, truth is usually "self-evident" from the vantage point of where one finds themselves in their lives. More compelling, if the petitioners for redress could be sedated, perhaps they would realize that only an omniscient God can own the Truth, not we ourselves.

This has compelled me of late to feel drawn to history. The history of times of rancour, loss and upheaval. It is not without some solemnity that I revisited the period know as the Great Depression. Then, as now, nations' economies were in shambles, fanatical groups had seized power in the vacuum of hopelessness, a nation was divided - no, the world was fractured by the argument of what was wrong and how to fix it. The human reaction to the deprivation of civilized behavior, a maintenance of the status quo, was to create even more chaos, or, to simply look away. The antidote to human suffering was perceived by the new regimes of the early 20th century to be the eradication of the viral causes of it. Of course, the identity of that virus depended on the diagnosis of the respective ruling power. Tens of millions perished in that therapy. Is then the prescription of war the catharsis through which order is restored? God forbid.

I worry about these things because the natural progression of the war for minds, without any accommodation, historically and inevitably leads to armed conflict. Though no one should abandon principle, neither should they scuttle mediation, a tender heart. In our peculiar war of ideas here in America, the false security of affluence has been pulled from under our feet. Was this prosperity, then, our God? Why else would our arguments have become so strident, so vicious? I can see no common ground. What history teaches us is that natural order will be restored. Let's hope that the consequences of a restoration of order will not leave us a lesser culture, with the death of reconciliation to become our legacy. Each one of us carries the weapons of war, and the seeds of peace.