Monthly Archives: September 2025

Cultivate the Bright Passions

I find it especially important in dark and troubled times to closely monitor personal emotions, and we seem to live in dark and troubled times. This came to mind as I drove to the office before eight o’clock on this Sunday morning. My wife is out of town, so I felt justified putting in early Sunday work hours, but such behavior indicates that my emotions could get out of whack.

But it was sixty-three degrees on a lovely morning, and I lowered the window to feel the cool breeze while listening to a station that features soothing acoustic music. And as I drove past farmland I was surprised to see several normally-stationary horses galloping together on a gentle morning run. And then I rounded a curve and noticed that the self-serve produce stand is now decorated with pumpkins and flowers on this first day of autumn. And I sensed in a powerful form the intoxicating feeling of peace.

There was more.

A little farther along, I met an older woman riding her bike on the lonely back roads. We have passed one another on several mornings and now wave with smiles as if we are dear friends, which we did with even more enthusiasm this morning. I then turned toward the office and noticed my friend, Kelly, out walking her dog, which led to another wave and another smile. And as if the world was conspiring for my good, I then noticed a wonderful student, Emma, walking across campus on a Sunday morning, and I stuck my arm out the window with another wave and smile.

And for a moment, if I didn’t know better, I sensed every reason in the world to be happy.

David Brooks published a column in The New York Times three days ago titled, “The Era of Dark Passions.” I surely do not agree with David Brooks on many things, but I typically benefit from reading his thoughts, and I especially appreciated that particular opinion piece. Brooks shared his belief that “something awful has been unleashed” in our current times and that “[e]ven before the Charlie Kirk assassination it was obvious that the dark passions now pervade the American psyche, and thus American politics.” Brooks identified dark passions as Anger, Hatred, Resentment, Fear, and the Urge to Dominate, and he distributed blame for stirring dark passions for personal benefit to his own industry, the media, and to both sides of the political aisle. Brooks then posed the question:

Why does politics feel so different now than in times past? My short answer is that over these years, demagogues in politics, in the media and online have exploited common feelings of humiliation to arouse dark passions, and those dark passions are dehumanizing our culture and undermining liberal democracy. My intuition is that we’re only at the beginning of this spiral, and that it will only get worse.

With that cheery outlook, what is there to do? Well, for starters, Brooks begins:

First, let me tell you how not to reverse it. There is a tendency in these circumstances to think that the other side is so awful that we need a monster on our side to beat it. That’s the decision Republicans made in nominating Trump. Democrats are moving in that direction too. Back in 2016 Michelle Obama asserted that Democrats to go high when Republicans go low, but the vibe quickly shifted. As former Attorney General Eric Holder put it in 2018: “When they go low, we kick ’em. That’s what this new Democratic Party is about.” If Republicans soil our democracy with extreme gerrymandering in Texas, Gavin Newsom and the Democrats will soil our democracy in California. The problem with fighting fire with fire is that you’re throwing yourself into the cesspool of dark passions. Do we really think we won’t be corrupted by them? Do we really think the path to victory lies in becoming morally indistinguishable from Trump? Do we really think democracy will survive? Surveys consistently show that most Americans are exhausted by this moral race to the bottom and want an alternative; do we not trust the American people?

Brooks then advises as “the most effective way to fight dark passions”…

History provides clear examples of how to halt the dark passion doom loop. It starts when a leader, or a group of people, who have every right to feel humiliated, who have every right to resort to the dark motivations, decide to interrupt the process. They simply refuse to be swallowed by the bitterness, and they work — laboriously over years or decades — to cultivate the bright passions in themselves — to be motivated by hope, care and some brighter vision of the good, and to show those passions to others, especially their enemies. Vaclav Havel did this. Abraham Lincoln did this in his second Inaugural Address. Alfred Dreyfus did this after his false conviction and Viktor Frankl did this after the Holocaust. You may believe Jesus is the messiah or not, but what gives his life moral grandeur was his ability to meet hatred with love. These leaders displayed astounding forbearance. They did not seek payback and revenge. Obviously, Martin Luther King Jr. comes to mind: “To our most bitter opponents we say: We shall match your capacity to inflict suffering by our capacity to endure suffering. We shall meet your physical force with soul force. Do to us what you will, and we shall continue to love you. We cannot in all good conscience obey your unjust laws, because noncooperation with evil is as much a moral obligation as is cooperation with good. Throw us in jail, and we shall still love you.”

You might not be surprised that this resonates with me given my latest blog post published a few days prior to Brooks’s column. But it especially came to mind this morning on a lovely ride into work. I place no value on being unrealistic or ignoring the obvious, but I place great value on noticing the good and living with hope, for what is the future without hope?

I guess what I’m saying is that I unexpectedly caught a glimpse of the bright passions on a drive to work this morning, and I am now extra inspired to resist the forces that push the dark passions and choose to cultivate the bright passions more and more instead. As David Brooks concluded his recent column:

The dark passions look backward toward some wrong committed in the past and render people hardhearted. The bright passions look forward toward some better life and render people tough-minded but tenderhearted.

May we look forward toward some better life as tough-minded and tenderhearted people.

Swimming in a Culture of Violence

At the beginning of David Foster Wallace’s famed commencement speech at Kenyon College in 2005, two young fish encounter an older fish as they are swimming along, and the older fish says to them in passing, “Morning, boys, how’s the water?” As they swim on, one of the young fish eventually looks at the other and asks, “What the hell is water?”

The profundity of Wallace’s illustration has many applications, but I’m thinking today of how we swim in a culture of violence.

At almost the exact same time on Wednesday and hundreds of miles apart, two acts of violence occurred in school settings: a 16-year-old with reportedly anti-Semitic and white supremacist views murdered two high school students before taking his own life, and a 22-year-old with reportedly anti-fascist views murdered an enormously popular politically-conservative speaker on a college campus. And both happened on the day before the anniversary of the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001. The confluence of these terrible tragedies produced a flood of emotion, naturally, and many in their grief offered expressions like “this is not who we are” and “how did we get here” and “who have we become.” Sadly, my thoughts turned to Wallace’s little parable.

I am (always saddened but) no longer surprised by acts of violence, although I am often surprised when others are surprised by acts of violence. We live in a culture of violence, and I’m not talking about the United States of America (only), and I’m not talking about something that has occurred in the past few years, or even in our lifetimes. I believe that humanity itself, at least human civilization as we understand it, has historically and continually believed at its core that violence can make things better, that violence solves problems, that violence produces justice. We condemn certain acts of violence and condone (sometimes celebrate) others as good, and as a result, violence is as ubiquitous to our lives as water is to a fish.

Governments seek the death penalty under the banner of justice. Nations go to war under the banner of justice. Cartoons and movies and television series create heroes who beat the hell out of villains and in so doing make the world a better place. Logically, while we (can and should and do) condemn the actions of abusers and assassins and terrorists, it should not surprise us when others perform terrible, violent acts that they believe will somehow make something better, too. This is water, as Wallace might say.

Theologian Walter Wink called this “the myth of redemptive violence” and claims that this really is who we are, at least in the sense that this concept is the water in which we swim unaware.

I was a pastor in my early thirties when the 9/11 attacks shocked our nation. At the time, my job was to think deeply about Christianity and translate that into the life of a church. I recall that I quickly became troubled by the natural (and national) response to the tragedy. To be specific, I had understood that my faith tradition looked at war as a terrible event, although for many the just war theory stood as a reluctant option that was developed in an attempt to wrestle with the moral challenges with classic pacifism. All that went out the window quickly when our nation was attacked, and shortly, even preemptive attacks on nations unaffiliated with the attacks seemed justified by large swaths of Christians regardless of the wisdom of centuries of church teachings.

Wink clarified for me at the time that a belief that “violence is both necessary and effective for resolving conflict and achieving justice” may be a far deeper value for many who claim Christianity than Jesus’s call to “love your enemies.” Wink went so far as to claim that “[i]t, and not Judaism or Christianity or Islam, is the dominant religion in our society today.” I recommend his book “The Powers That Be” if you truly want to wrestle with his thoughts and address the “what-ifs” that probably come to mind first (i.e., What if someone breaks into your house to threaten your family? What if nobody stands up to Hitler?). Those are valid questions, and Wink takes them on, but that is not my point today. Instead, I simply point toward the ocean that we swim in together. Violence is an ugly word that we condemn in times of tragedy, yet violence undergirds and defines our culture, and we should at least be aware.

The diagnosis runs deep, and the prognosis is not encouraging, but after decades of wrestling I have adopted an approach to life that does not include despair. While I personally support pathways leading to fewer dangerous weapons instead of more, and while I long for vast improvements in mental health care, neither strike at the root of the redemptive violence mindset. So, what to do?

My choice is simply to reject violence in all its forms, including those popularly conceived of as redemptive. I choose, if you will pardon the metaphor, to attempt to live as a fish out of water.

How to do that is ridiculously complicated, but at least the why is not. Why I choose to pursue a path that rejects all forms of violence is because the ocean I would like to swim in is one where every human being is imbued with dignity and respect and worthy of love. With that perspective, violence is no longer an option because violence is inconceivable toward someone that you truly love.

I know. When someone told me I live in fantasy land, I nearly fell off my unicorn. But I’m not talking love in the silly sentimental sense. I’m talking love in all its messiness. The sort of love that will do the hard work of creative resistance, but never attack or demean or destroy. How can you attack someone you love?

This is how I still claim to be a Christian, despite myriad reasons to disassociate based on popular conceptions of what that means. I believe that indiscriminate love, which includes your worst enemies, is the heart of Jesus’s message, and I am bought in. I cannot imagine that such a radical thought would ever be popular, but I can imagine what it would be like if it were, and that is enough for me.