Like most people who are
not in denial or defending some vested interest, I see the racism, misogyny,
and xenophobia that are endemic in much of American culture and blatantly
rampant in some quarters of national leadership. And while I deplore them as
much as anybody, I don’t believe these traits are chosen—they are not
intentional or premeditated—as some would imply.
I see us beating each other up with accusations of these evil, even demonic, qualities; however, short of mental illness or demonic possession, I don’t believe anyone
would, upon reflection, decide: “I’m going to be a racist.” In fact, most people deny they are racist. For the most part, I repeat, it's not intentional or premeditated.
More than individual
traits, these character flaws are systemic. They are embedded in the human
ethos and have been manifested in virtually every human culture at
least since the emergence of the conquest cultures during the Bronze Age. The
conquest cultures, with their characteristic myth of redemptive violence, were
clearly articulated and described as early as the Babylonian creation myth (The
Enuma Elish), which dates to the 12th and 13th centuries
BCE.
Walter Wink describes that myth of redemptive
violence, which he began to discern while watching the TV cartoons with his
children during the 1960s. He writes:
“I began to examine the structure of cartoons, and found the
same pattern repeated endlessly: an indestructible hero is doggedly opposed to
an irreformable and equally indestructible villain. Nothing can kill the hero,
though for the first three quarters of the show he (rarely she) suffers
grievously and appears hopelessly doomed, until miraculously, the hero breaks
free, vanquishes the villain, and restores order until the next episode.
Nothing finally destroys the villain or prevents his or her reappearance,
whether the villain is soundly trounced, jailed, drowned, or shot into outer
space.”[1]
In the Babylonian myth,
creation itself is an act of violence, and that mythic structure spread from
Ireland to China. Wink continues:
“Typically, a male war god residing in the sky fights a
decisive battle with a female divine being, usually depicted as a monster or
dragon, residing in the sea or abyss (the feminine element). Having vanquished
the original enemy by war and murder, the victor fashions a cosmos from the
monster’s corpse. Cosmic order requires the violent suppression of the
feminine, and is mirrored in the social order by the subjection of women to men
and people to ruler.”[2]
If the Babylonian myth of
creation describes a very early example of acculturated misogyny, the testimony
of endemic racism dates at least a millennium earlier to the Hebrew Scriptures,
where it emerges from the feud between Abraham’s jealous wife, Sarai and his
concubine (Sarai’s handmaiden), Hagar. Ishmael, Hagar’s son and the source of
Sarai’s jealousy, is banished with his mother, and became known as the father
of the Arabic peoples. Ishmael hated Abraham and his tribe because of his
banishment, which essentially cut him off from a rather affluent inheritance as
Abraham’s first-born. That hatred became the basis of the relationship between
the Israelites and the descendants of Ishmael (which continues today) and is an
early depiction of acculturated racism.
In every manifestation of
misogyny and racism, whether systemic and cultural or individual and personal,
the root is an intolerance of differences—xenophobia. I submit that xenophobia
is the foundation of virtually every human relations dysfunction, and I would
emphasize the “phobia” part of that word.
In recent writings and
addresses fear consistently is identified as a major factor behind the
animosity that festers like an open wound and divides the American people.
The antidote to
xenophobia, I submit, is that people simply become better acquainted. In
training for pastoral care, a primary principle was (and still is) that between
me and any other human there are infinitely more similarities than
differences. But it’s human nature to
focus on the differences. And that focus eventually leads to fear.
When people become better
acquainted with each other, it’s common for them to discover those similarities—common
interests and hopes and ideals—that become a basis for cooperative, peaceful relationships.
I suggest that the same is true in group and community relationships.
What are your hopes? Your
dreams? What do you want to accomplish? If you share your responses with me, I
suspect we’ll discover that I have the same kinds of hopes and dreams and
objectives, and the foundation will have been laid for the growth of trust and
friendship.
Sound too good to be true?
Too easy? I don’t know. Has it ever been tried? Really?
Really?
That’s the way it looks
through the Flawed Glass that is my world view.
Together
in the Walk,
Jim
