Like many of us, the attempted assassination of Donald Trump sent my mind racing. Who was the shooter? Why did he do it? Was security inadequate? Would former President Trump be OK? What does this mean for the election? For Republicans? For Democrats? For the country? These questions were supported, if not augmented, by all the commentary, information – and misinformation that has roiled every platform since the shooting.
And then a palpable wave came over me, or rose up from within me – or both. The wave was dread. Dread is invisible, and in many ways defies description. Dread is not fear; it flows deeper than fear. Fear is a response to an object, a source. Dread is existential. It is a disorienting realization, at the gut level, that all is not right with the world. My head knows that; most of us know that there is injustice, inequity, pain and hostility that sweeps across the landscape; the list goes on and on. And many of us – of all sorts, conditions and persuasions – do all that we can to mitigate the injustice and inequity; if not try and fix it. Dread is the gut-wrenching sense that our endless litany of laments is, in fact, endless. They will not go away.
What drove me to dread was the violence. Yes, the violence of the shooter, but the grim and gripping reminder of our capacity for violence. Violence is a choice, and the choice the shooter made has had an unfolding series of consequences. One consequence, it seems, is that Donald Trump will medically recover, and we can thank God for that. A more troubling consequence that we have learned over the centuries is that violence begets violence. An intensive investigation is underway to identify the shooter’s motive. That is important and necessary. At the same time anxiety – and blame, is being voiced over which side of the political spectrum is responsible for creating a culture of violence; and all sorts of verbal and armed defenses are being erected to ward off the violence that many dread will follow.
We all have a capacity to engage in, or celebrate, violence. When Donald Trump was lifted up from behind the podium, he raised his fist and shouted “fight” several times. I know that response. Most of us do. The few times in my life when I have been assaulted with violence I responded with fury – and a desire to fight back. I know that reaction. And if I can get beyond it (which is a big if), my instinct for violence fills me with dread.
Danish philosopher and theologian Soren Kierkegaard (1813-1855) encouraged his audience to stay with the dread, also described as deep anxiety. “If we stay with the anxiety”, Kierkegaard wrote, “it will educate us as to who we really are.” Jesus stayed with the dread, the anxiety. Jesus knew the capacity for violence, in the world and in himself. Staying with the dread, which enabled him to learn more about himself, made him a world transforming teacher, not just for Christians, but for people of other faiths as well.
It is hard to stay with the dread, with the anxiety. When I find myself in that disabling space, my first desire is to get out of it. It is much more satisfying to come up with policies and projections, anything we can do to fix it. Violence is invariably contained in that toolbox. Solutions and plans are indeed essential. Violence is not. And perhaps the only way to reduce the level of violence is to recognize our capacity for it. And we can choose not to resort to violence.
Coping with dread is hard. I believe that at a deep level America is trying to avoid the dread that the Saturday attempted assassination unleashed. And yet dread can be, and often is, the wellspring for hope. As Rabbi Sharon Brous has written, “hope is an act of defiance against a politics of pessimism and a culture of despair that depends on us not being able to imagine something better than where we are now.” Hope can lead us to reconciliation, and to finding common ground. I have seen dread produce hope, which then has mysteriously and miraculously engendered positive change. The dread of slavery led to the hope of freedom, which generated extraordinary courage and the civil rights movement (which is still a work in progress). The dread of apartheid led to the hope of freedom, which produced a new South Africa (which, again, is still a work in progress). Hope can help move us from cynicism to compassion, and bring about change.
Stay with the anxiety, hard though that may be. It can lead us to hope, and help in taming our capacity for violence.
