The Fruits of Fear

​First, fear. Everything follows and grows from fear’s seed corn. The fear of what others think, the fear of what others might do, the fear of the Other—the one who doesn’t look, speak, think or worship like me. Different places bring different faces. Because I like to eat tacos or sushi, doesn’t mean I welcome folks from south of my border or from the far East.

And the fear that I am not liked, respected or approved of. If only I were bigger, richer, better looking, more talented, more successful—it must be someone’s fault. Not mine. It must be them, the ones who are different from me.

Sometimes fear and prejudice are inherited, oozing down the family tree from those who came before me, inviting me to pass it on to those who come after me. It’s easy enough to do, to some extent, perhaps even inevitable.

Circumstance may also play a role. A lost job, broken marriage, or other disappointment offers one the opportunity to take responsibility and pick up the pieces—or look for something else—someone else to blame.

Fears may simmer into a collective stew of grievance, bringing over time, my blame game to a full boil, inviting my grievance to glom onto the grievances of others. Our sense of grievance can become communal, an association of like-minded persons nurtured by victimhood that gives voice to the possibility of more malevolent incarnations.

Personal fear’s evolution into collective grievance finds its voice in expressions of anger and protest, and searches with jaundiced eye for a holy or divine cause and justification. Holy wars are often inspired by hyper- patriotism, nationalism, religion, race, or some form of political ideology.

The question becomes: Where do we go from here?

The winding snake of grievance inevitably looks for a place, someone, to strike. Unchecked, grievance can easily enough morph into various strains of hate and from hate, it’s only a short skip and a hop to thoughts, then plans, then acts of violence. Personal fears, collective grievance, perceived victimization, along with growing self-delusion and paranoia fed by a cornucopia of conspiracies, nudge the angry herd forward.

The bonding of our fear with the anger of others, allows us to feel more secure in a like-minded group, even a mob whether on a rampage destroying and burning businesses in Portland or smashing windows and storming the capitol building in Washington. Of course, when apprehended, the mob of looters or rioters is not put on trial. Instead, reality and responsibility circles back around to the individual. The shouts, high-fives, and placards disappear. Aside from a lawyer, one stands alone before the Judge.

The question remains: Where can we go from here? 

Is there another path to take? Is there another way to respond to fear and grievance, another way to resolve what ails us, personally and collectively?

Sometimes we forget that when we feel anger, we also become anger—anger becomes us. Before a violent act occurs, it is first considered, even rehearsed, in one’s head. I cannot kill someone I have come to hate until I have first killed them in my mind. First feeling, then thinking, then acting.

Discernment, a forgotten concept and term for many, could be a good place to start. Discernment, the ability to think clearly, to weigh different points of view, to be able to tell the difference between what is true and what is false, to have balance in one’s reasoning. 

Not slogans and bumper stickers, but substance and insights and more nuanced understanding. Perhaps, an outcome of such a process, might even result in me changing my mind. If I–we–cannot change our minds, how can we change anything for the better. The earth will remain flat, the moon made of cheese and so on. Great passion without enduring compassion can lead to cruelty and violence whether by the cross or the gas chamber or the innocent victim hanging from a tree. While we may be inspired by the national pride of a grand military exhibition or parade, what we don’t see marching are the families missing loved ones killed in the war or the wheel chairs of the maimed and wounded. We can honor those who sacrificed for our well-being by resolving to solve the problems that led to the conflict in the first place, true for families and nations.

Pride has become a virtue, often false pride. It’s not who has the biggest bank account, but who has the biggest heart that in the end, matters most. Excluding creates grievance. Including encourages understanding and respect. Compassion and humility heals. Pride goes before the fall. Building bridges works better than burning buildings. Hate consumes and destroys. Love expands and makes whole.

Are we here to serve or be served?

Whether we like it or not, we are all passengers in the same boat. We are connected, the best of us and the worst of us, in ways we cannot see or even imagine. We don’t control outcomes, only our intentions.

So why don’t we try harder to put our good intentions into action?