On one level, satyagraha is the means to eradicating injustice using soul force rather than through violence or physical force. A spiritual activist is not out to conquer but to convert; not to prevail, but to persuade. She endures with infinite patience and humility. She does not bulldoze others, but takes the way of self-suffering. Gandhi believed that the spiritual activist derives her power from God. Dependence on God will help the disciple of nonviolence to develop the courage and fearlessness needed both to stay the course and to wear down opponents in the social struggle with love.
For Gandhi, Jesus was a supreme non-violent resistor. Martin Luther King Jr. noticed the same thing. Through satyagraha, King found a new way to affirm the teachings of Jesus, which spoke well to his people in his time and to some of us beyond.
In our faith communities, what do we make of the ideas like the soul force of Gandhi and the political resistance of King? What do we do with love and nonviolence in a country where power-politics reign supreme in our institutions, including religious establishments? What do we do when many of our institutions, including religions, marginalize or silence the voice of dissent to protect the status quo? Of what relevance is satyagraha at a time when only certain, media-curated social crises tend to shock the moral sensibility of political, civic, business, educational and religious leaders?
Think about those who have been deeply wounded by life. Think of those who have suffered most terribly, those who flee their homes in the face of violence and brutality, or those who feel like outcasts because of the violence of betrayal, suspicion and hatred. Shame and duplicity are common experiences of many people affected by tragedy, violence, and fear. Victor Frankl, who chronicled his experiences as a Jewish prisoner in a concentration camp, observed three psychological reactions experienced by victims of violence:
An overwhelming sense of trauma and inability to come to terms with the horror.
A sense of apathy and despair that nothing can be done, and nothing will ever change.
Lastly and often later, feelings of moral deformity, hatred, bitterness, disillusionment, blame and an inability to relate or trust in humanity again.6
Spiritual activists insist that this is not a transcendent purpose for humanity. Violence begets violence. As Rabbi Brad Hirschfield points out,
The Bible never says we shouldn’t want revenge: wanting it is normal! Instead, it acknowledges that there is a real cost, even when something happens by accident. Indulging our inclination towards revenge is not such a good thing, however. The Bible tells us to be aware that while the urge for vengeance can be legitimate, acting on that urge is not.7
Spiritual activism liberates us from cycles in which violence beget violence. We are given a chance to disestablish cycles of revenge and brutality by participating in the suffering of God for the world.
In 2012, a friend invited me to see the opera Satyagraha by Philip Glass at the MET in New York City. After an exhausting week of ministry, I almost did not go. Since the orchestration is a tonal, repetitive poem that is close to four hours long, I worried I would fall asleep. But, as often happens, when we are least expecting it, we can get drawn into something life-altering and unforgettable; something so special that we long to hold onto the experience, repeat it, and remember it long after it is over. Yes, the music repeated itself, but in the way a beating heart is repetitive; like breathing in and breathing out; like waves of the sea revealing treasures in the sand. The music and images entered the audience’s blood stream. We inhaled it and grew with it like a prayer or meditation. Satyagraha was persuasively beautiful. I left the opera feeling hopeful. I left feeling transformed.
Occupy Wall Street activist Noah Fischer wrote about his experience at the same opera, but from the other side of the doors of the MET. After being evicted from Liberty Park, Occupy protesters looked for ways to promote their message in other public spaces. Fischer decided to gather with hundreds of protesters who assembled on the steps of Lincoln Center, blocked off from the plaza by police barricades and heavy NYPD presence. When a few who dared to cross the barricades were arrested, there were shouts of, “Shame, shame, shame!” from some of the protestors. Occupiers took off their shoes, a Gandhian symbol of dignity, standing barefoot on the cold pavement. As Satyagraha ended, the elegantly dressed audience exited into the plaza to see a barefoot protest at the bottom of the grand steps. Occupiers called out to opera-goers in unison to join the protest, but the sight of the NYPD barricades seemed to paralyze them. Philip Glass, who attended the performance that night, suddenly popped up in the Occupy Wall Street assembly to read a statement on the people’s mic. As Occupiers sat down, and the lights from a video camera illuminated his face, Glass called out the last lines of the opera, a passage from the Bhagavad Gita:
Mic check!
When righteousness withers away
And evil rules the land
We come into being
Age after age
And take visible shape
And move
A man among men
For the protection of good
Thrusting back evil
And setting virtue
On her seat again.
Fischer writes,
Chanting along with Glass, whose music had been the soundtrack to my childhood, I melted into the crowd, my body vibrating to the shared voice, deeply encouraged by this ancient text. When I looked up, the opera audience had joined us. The buffer zone was gone. We were one big crowd—the 100%! The physical NYPD barricades still stood among us, but they were no longer barriers, absorbed now into our big warm body. Until late into the night we held our general assembly. The police stood offstage, now relaxed. Two separate spaces had flowed into one, protesters had become people again, and the police could then be people too.8
For those who think that justice means injuring those who injure us, error can be corrected by error, or evil can be vanquished by evil, spiritual activism and non-resistance help us join in common aims. We thrust back evil, set virtue aright, and claim our ability to tear down the barricades that keep us from one another, as Jesus, Gandhi, Martin, and so many others began and continue to do.
For Conversation
Spiritual activists can feel frightened by the magnitude of people, events, and systems that threaten our well-being. Non-violence does not mean that we remain indifferent to the problems. Non-violence also fosters a sense of compassion and caring. However, what happens when it all becomes too much? We may shut down due to compassion fatigue — making too much emotional connection. Constantly serving the needs of others can exhaust us. One antidote is to cultivate an open heart. We can develop open-heartedness by allowing ourselves to fully experience the emotions rocking around inside. We focus goodwill toward ourselves with the following phrases:
May I be safe
May I be peaceful
May I be kind to myself
May I accept myself just as I am.
We can also ask some questions:
In what ways does my activism and contemplation foster fatigue or anger in my life?
In what ways does my contemplation and activism promote self-care, goodwill, energy, and compassion in my life?
For Active Contemplation
Rabbi Brad Hirschfield suggests an exercise in which activists see themselves