Welcome to our new web site!
To give our readers a chance to experience all that our new website has to offer, we have made all content freely available, through August 1, 2019.
During this time, print and digital subscribers will not need to log in to view our stories or e-editions.
In the past few months, I’ve been trying to make the case that American society in the age of Trump functions very much like an addict—an addict that will soon be confronted with an existential decision to recover or perish.
So what might that recovery look like?
The genius of the folks who developed “twelve-step” programs for alcoholics and other addicts beginning back in the 1930s was simple. They saw that in order to recover, the addict couldn’t rely on his or her individual will alone, but needed to find something outside of themselves—they hit upon the term “higher power”—to help guide their decisions.
The real genius was that they realized it didn’t much matter exactly what that “higher power” was. It didn’t need to be a deity. In fact, it was better if the addict decided for himself or herself what it was, according to his or her own understanding. This avoided the need to reconcile oneself with someone else’s dogma or theology, and the possibility of destructive disputes or schisms. This “higher power” did need to be something bigger than one’s self—something, in a sense, spiritual.
Yet, if I were to say that the solution to America’s troubles is “spiritual” in nature, I fear that quite a few people would take me exactly the wrong way. The kind of spiritual solution of which I am thinking has absolutely nothing to do with posting monuments to the Ten Commandments, absolutely nothing to do with mandating prayer in the public schools or using the words “In God We Trust”—or, for that matter, with governments using public funds to support religious displays.
It has nothing to do with outward displays of religiosity at all.
It begins instead internally, with a strong dose of humility—a quality in short supply in the American national consciousness. It begins with an acknowledgment, an admission to ourselves that things have gotten out of control. Things are happening that seemingly exceed our ability to cope with them, from gun violence and opioid addiction to inequality and climate change.
To take even this first step would be a huge challenge for the American psyche, even in normal times. It runs completely counter to our treasured national narrative of “can-do” confidence, of “manifest destiny,” of shining cities on a hill.
That’s why this process won’t start—can’t start—until it absolutely has to.
But once it does start, then we will have to find what the term “higher power” means for us as a people. I don’t think that it’s God per se. Rather, it may be the set of values that we have always professed to believe in—moral directives such as equality, justice, fairness, freedom, responsibility—but have frequently failed to implement fully.
These qualities are not ours alone, of course. To rededicate ourselves to their service will also mean acknowledging that there is something beyond our own narrow perception of “national self-interest,” and that we are no longer some kind of final authority. Given our historical attitudes toward institutions including the United Nations and the International Criminal Court, this will also be a difficult step to take—but step we must.
That is, if we wish to recover our collective soul.