Transcending Fear Itself: A Journey from the Personal to the Political

 “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”
–Franklin Delano Roosevelt

FDR

 

When I was a young seminarian, I suffered from anorexia nervosa.  I learned to starve myself for sake of unnatural thinness.  And this was long before eating disorders became a contagion on campuses around the world.  I suppose you could say I was on the cutting edge of a deadly neurosis, a pioneer in taking things to extremes.

My absolutist-oriented anorexic mind was of the opinion that if you ate one cookie, it was like the Domino Theory of Vietnam:  “If Vietnam falls, so goes all of Southeast Asia!”  (We all know how well that worked out.)  Letting my guard down for even one cookie meant my whole world could fall into utter chaos, overrun by barbaric hoards.

Of course anorexia is not so much about food and thinness; it’s really about fear and control.  What did I fear?  I feared being fat, yes, but that was just the surface.  What I really feared was not being liked, not being loved, not being good enough—that deep, dark, basic human predicament that Brene Brown calls “shame.”  Only if I exercised rigid control over my food could I trick myself into feeling worthy—even special.  Starving myself gave me a false sense of superiority, a kind of self-righteousness characteristic of rigid people.

I felt imprisoned in a tiny cell.  Of course I wanted to be free—I could see happy people through the bars of my window—but I was too afraid to open the door and walk out into the wideness and sunshine.  What if I lost control?  Worse, what if I discovered that I was really just mediocre, nothing special?  Fear was starving me, body and soul.  And it affected everyone around me like an invisible poison infecting the air. 

When fear takes on a life of its own, it becomes contagious.  And when there is a contagion of fear, there is the danger of a full-blown famine of the collective soul.  You could say that anorexia is analogous to what’s happening in our own country and in the world today.  I see a form of social anorexia:  rigid ideologies, soul-shriveling theology, and thin-thinking Us vs. Them worldviews—all issuing from that dark place called “fear itself.” . . . 

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An Antidote to the Ugliness of Trumpism

“Beauty is a life saving plank in the midst of the ocean.” —St. Augustine, De Musica  

“Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.” —RumiPicture

We live in ugly times.  That is, if you listen to the political rhetoric of the  2016 US presidential election.  Most particularly, I refer to that ugly cluster of racism, Islamophobia, misogamy, and xenophobia, i.e., the Trump campaign.  Like a medieval ball-and-chain flail with deadly spikes, this psychic weapon is whipped about carelessly by Donald Trump and his followers, threatening to rend the colorful and delicate tapestry that makes up our American culture—the creation of our ever-evolving sense of social justice stitched together through 240 years of blood, sweat, and tears.

Who can save us from this peril of ugliness?  What can repair the torn places in the fabric of our society and restore a sense of justice?  I want to propose that beauty itself can save us.  Beauty can heal our society.  Beauty is an antidote to the contagion of Trumpism.


 

But isn’t beauty—the whole realm of the aesthetic—just a tangential quality of life, one best left to poets and philosophers, hardly relevant to the real world?  And how can it save us from Donald Trump?  Isn’t that asking just a little too much?   Click here to read the entire post 🙂