If everybody always lies to you, the consequence is not that you believe the lies, but rather that nobody believes anything any longer. This is because lies, by their very nature, have to be changed, and a lying government has constantly to rewrite its own history. On the receiving end you get not only one lie—a lie which you could go on for the rest of your days—but you get a great number of lies, depending on how the political wind blows. And a people that no longer can believe anything cannot make up its mind. It is deprived not only of its capacity to act but also of its capacity to think and to judge. And with such a people you can then do what you please.
Hannah Arendt, 1974
I am observing the swirling current of today, trying to find a foothold, but coming up empty.
Isn’t it interesting how folks who were rioting elbow-to-elbow only a month ago are now pressing their concern for social distancing onto our consciences?
Those who railed on guns are arming themselves.
Those who made their kids hold signs promoting life that matters are once again numbing themselves with legalized drugs and trash TV.
Those with anxiety disorders and emotional support animals plunge daily into the very animosity that caused their problem in the first place.
Those who want freedom of speech are the first in line to silence the person who challenges them.
Those who want government protection are obliterating their local enforcement agencies, destroying any sense of justice.
We want laws, but only if they are bendy.
We all want privacy, but every cell phone video that captures a public evil is simply “holding people accountable”, so we have ours handy.
We point fingers heavy with blame, but we deny we are the ones who have gotten ourselves into such a pickle by ignoring the small fact of personal responsibility.
We applaud others for finding their own truth, when finding one’s own nuanced truth only ripples out, effectively destroying another’s truth.
We whip up sweet, lovely, kind and benevolent versions of ourselves to parse out, but just under the skin our blood boils hot hate, unfiltered.
I am one-hundred percent certain you can identify with one of these sentences.
I’m afraid it smells fishy. A flood of contradictions. It seems like there ought to be a great reckoning, but all I hear is anger. Anger aimed at people who don’t budge, don’t bend, don’t follow whatever rules seem to be “saving lives”.
I’ve been reading some Hannah Arendt lately. She dipped her toes in book reviews for magazines and eventually pumped out the massive tome, The Origins of Totalitarianism. (If you think I spelled that word right the first time, you are wrong. If you think I’ll read anything but the Cliffnotes version, you’re wrong again.)
But Arendt came to a particularly interesting conclusion when it came to ideology. She was Jewish, writing post-Holocaust, English a second language, sorting out thoughts into words that could be digested by the American public (especially the ones who were enamored with Communism). It’s pretty striking to read 75 years later, when we think we’ve really progressed.
She did not think life could be simplified to a set of rules enforced by the government, nor could a society be healthy with only one particular “code of behavior”. Once banded to this ideal, the individual spirit is lost.
You are coordinated not with the powers that be, but with your neighbor—coordinated with the majority. But instead of communicating with the other you are now glued to him. And you feel of course marvelous. Totalitarianism appeals to the very dangerous emotional needs of people who live in complete isolation and in fear of one another.
This, more than anything I’ve yet read, speaks to our modern times. I spent a sweaty hour on Facebook Live this week, listening to our school district’s plans on reopening, and had to turn it off because the comments were so heated. No one is communicating, though Twitter might like you to think everyone has a voice. All have been physically isolated at one point or another, and fear is pulsing through our veins. More than one person commented (ahem, sneered), “Who do we blame when our Grandma dies because you weren’t careful enough in reopening schools?”
Arendt warns of a totalitarianism evil that isn’t limited to regimes, but becomes a way of life because people are reduced to a “bundle of reactions” and therefore find a common anchor in politicism. If that doesn’t scald the conscience, what will?
And here I am, trying to keep my kids from sneezing. Here I am, a white, stay-at-home mother stifling every little instinct to clear my throat in public.Trying to take up less space than ever before, lest I step on a toe and offend. Maintaining my distance, discreetly taking precious sips of fresh air. Slinking around the parking lot of grocery stores and libraries to retrieve the small necessities: food and books. Retreating to my house, minding my business. Withdrawing my children from the local school because the rules have become oppressive for both teachers and kids, the public arena a vicious screaming match, a la damnatio ad bestias.
This is what is becoming oppressive: it is not the wearing of masks.
It is the silencing of the fellow man, the regime totalitarianism. The lie of making things “equitable”, when making things “equitable” inevitably forces someone to be stepped on, someone’s mouth to be covered.
I’m finding out that, for a person like myself (and quite possibly you), a rule-follower, respectful to a fault, ever conscious of how one should act responsibly and committed to the greater good–we can not be good enough. We are labeled fragile and unaware.
And if you are tired of this (like I am), you cannot, obedient as you try to be, equivocate or distill it to a passive turning of the cheek maneuver. You cannot afford to be idle, a cop-out Christian. We are given marching orders to “not grow weary in doing good”–and this forward motion compels us.
To do good, not to be better. To do. To let our light shine before men, that they may worship God (Matthew 5:16).
This is what began revolutions. This is why the Israelites left Egypt.
But we must not wage war the way the world does. As much as we’d like to, being in the flesh and tempted all the same–the old man (and woman) has died. The reflexive nature, reactive, hateful, spiteful–has been crucified with Christ–she is no longer welcome to throw a pity party or daggers or sulk in the corner, bemoaning her circumstances. She is not fragile. She doesn’t need to rant or add comments or doubt and feel ashamed.
The new being has been brought forth, Spirit-controlled and lovely. She hopes. She endures.
I have often quoted G.K. Chesterton, because I can think of no one who can put it more aptly:
The more I considered Christianity, the more I found that while it had established a rule and order, the chief aim of that order was to give room for good things to run wild.
Despite what the world is saying, there is more freedom to be had in every oppression.
And when I remember this, I’m fully aware: no matter the circumstances, I know what I believe. I believe in God’s rule and order in my life, that He has made me a new creation. We weren’t meant to swallow lies. We weren’t meant to argue with the old creature, the nature of man who loves to hate and hates to love. We are not a people who, as Arendt puts it, cannot believe anything or make up its mind.
And it is right here I can finally understand it, in the eye of the storm where everything around me is topsy-turvy: there is still capacity for us to think, act, judge, and not fall prey to reactive, nervous messes. There is still plenty of darkness to let my light shine–and that, indeed is what we’ve been called to do.
There is still plenty of room for good things to run wild.
