Power or truth
I had another hard conversation with my elder son today. He's become pretty politically conservative--he reads lots of Patrick Buchanan--and the furor over the immigration bills in Congress has gotten him especially in a lather. But the latest issue is that he rails against the liberal charter school his younger brother attends.
It all came to a head (again) this morning when he criticized me for not complaining to the charter school that it isn't presenting all sides of the immigration debate. He told me, essentially, that I was being hypocritical, and included asides about how the immigration protesters are disloyal to America, being led by those who know nothing, and using children.
"Fine," I said at last. "You're right. You win. Now leave me alone." I left for work early.
It wasn't so much his arguments that bothered me, though. It was the way he was using language as a kind of stick to prod and push both me and his younger brother. I don't doubt that he believes the political views he expresses, but I also know that emotionally more is going on.
It always is, isn't it? We tend to talk about politics as though we're being driven completely by logic, by evidence and certainty and facts. I know, though, that at least for me, it's always been about more than that. My son always wants to talk about evidence, but I know that finally it gets down to values. I've come to see two ways making choices about what we'll value, two lenses: one is truth and the other is power.
If you look through the lens of power, then choices and values are about winning. They are about who will end up being "right." Power is about "us" (our country, our religion, our political party, our ethnic group, our interests) ending up on top, about being safe, about making sure that you can control as much turf and ideas and material as possible to protect yourself from anyone and anything else that might want to hurt you.
The lens of truth is less certain. When you look through it, you don't get to pretend that you haven't made mistakes or haven't gotten things wrong. You have to admit that there are things you don't know; you have to admit that you don't have the answers and you're doing the best you can; you have to acknowledge that your experiences and emotions and fears color the way you look at the world. And you have to be willing to continually re-examine and even change your point of view. About everything. When you seek truth, being open is more important than being right. Argument isn't about winning; it's about understanding. And success means the ability to see things just a bit more clearly now than you did before, knowing that you're never really going to get it right.
Like many people, my son doesn't seem to have those kinds of doubts--at least not that he expresses. Most people don't. But I do. I know that my values have been shaped by being a fourth of five boys, by feeling dissatisfied with so much of what the world tells me I'm supposed to value, by my belief that no system or ideology or creed is more important than living human beings and what will nurture them physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually; by my conviction that my life is no more important than that of any human being anywhere else in the world, that I deserve no less but certainly no more than anyone else.
I should say that I don't see any real difference politically between the people who pursue truth and those who go after power. It isn't a radical/conservative, Democratic/Republican divide. In general, the use of the truth lens is pretty rare in my experience, including its use by me.
These are the things I'd really like to discuss with my son. I'd like to talk with him about what's in his heart, about what scares him and how his successes and difficulties have influenced what he reads and listens to and believes. I'd like to know how he feels. And I'd like to tell him about how I've gotten to where I am. I'd like all of us to talk about that, to let go of strength and authority and just look at ourselves and each other. Just look.
It all came to a head (again) this morning when he criticized me for not complaining to the charter school that it isn't presenting all sides of the immigration debate. He told me, essentially, that I was being hypocritical, and included asides about how the immigration protesters are disloyal to America, being led by those who know nothing, and using children.
"Fine," I said at last. "You're right. You win. Now leave me alone." I left for work early.
It wasn't so much his arguments that bothered me, though. It was the way he was using language as a kind of stick to prod and push both me and his younger brother. I don't doubt that he believes the political views he expresses, but I also know that emotionally more is going on.
It always is, isn't it? We tend to talk about politics as though we're being driven completely by logic, by evidence and certainty and facts. I know, though, that at least for me, it's always been about more than that. My son always wants to talk about evidence, but I know that finally it gets down to values. I've come to see two ways making choices about what we'll value, two lenses: one is truth and the other is power.
If you look through the lens of power, then choices and values are about winning. They are about who will end up being "right." Power is about "us" (our country, our religion, our political party, our ethnic group, our interests) ending up on top, about being safe, about making sure that you can control as much turf and ideas and material as possible to protect yourself from anyone and anything else that might want to hurt you.
The lens of truth is less certain. When you look through it, you don't get to pretend that you haven't made mistakes or haven't gotten things wrong. You have to admit that there are things you don't know; you have to admit that you don't have the answers and you're doing the best you can; you have to acknowledge that your experiences and emotions and fears color the way you look at the world. And you have to be willing to continually re-examine and even change your point of view. About everything. When you seek truth, being open is more important than being right. Argument isn't about winning; it's about understanding. And success means the ability to see things just a bit more clearly now than you did before, knowing that you're never really going to get it right.
Like many people, my son doesn't seem to have those kinds of doubts--at least not that he expresses. Most people don't. But I do. I know that my values have been shaped by being a fourth of five boys, by feeling dissatisfied with so much of what the world tells me I'm supposed to value, by my belief that no system or ideology or creed is more important than living human beings and what will nurture them physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually; by my conviction that my life is no more important than that of any human being anywhere else in the world, that I deserve no less but certainly no more than anyone else.
I should say that I don't see any real difference politically between the people who pursue truth and those who go after power. It isn't a radical/conservative, Democratic/Republican divide. In general, the use of the truth lens is pretty rare in my experience, including its use by me.
These are the things I'd really like to discuss with my son. I'd like to talk with him about what's in his heart, about what scares him and how his successes and difficulties have influenced what he reads and listens to and believes. I'd like to know how he feels. And I'd like to tell him about how I've gotten to where I am. I'd like all of us to talk about that, to let go of strength and authority and just look at ourselves and each other. Just look.
posted by A Pilgrim at 12:34 PM
1 Comments:
hear hear!! what a wonderful way to look at life. i think that true power comes from truth, but that may not involve lots of money or other things.
thanks!
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