on not being finessed by carnival barkers or someone else's talking points

by David Dark

Not till the sun excludes you do I exclude you. - Walt Whitman “To a Common Prostitute”

Technology is the knack of so arranging the world that we don’t have to experience it. - Max Frisch

If one clings to the strong man, One loses the little boy. -The I-Ching or Book of Changes

My wife and I were fated to pass a Friday evening in September carrying children through a cacophony of carousels, ferris wheels, air horns, and troubled youth smelling of corn dogs and elephant ears when, at the end of a busy week, my five-year-old daughter was bequeathed a free ticket to the Tennessee State Fair. I hadn't partaken in the madness in over twenty years, and I was pleased to note that goldfish are still occasionally placed in food coloring and that certain dizzying contraptions appear to hold intergenerational appeal. Of the unsettling episodes we witnessed as we accompanied our children through the madness, one particular sensation that I suspect will remain with me for a good long time involved the games of chance.

They were strategically positioned so that no customers could make their way down to a single ride without running the gauntlet of twenty or so booths. Because we were among the first to arrive (with no crowd in which to lose ourselves), there was no mistaking who was being spoken to as one loud, tired man after another made every possible, impassioned appeal he could improvise:

"Sir, stop. I must insist. Bring your girl over here." "Don't you want to give your little daughter a prize? C'mon, sir, two dollars!" "I'll make sure she wins! A doll for your sweet little girl!"

And the subtext: "What kind of a father are you? Do you love her or don't you? Can't you spare a little money to make your child happy?"

Somehow, I was able to laugh out loud, but my ego was positively pummeled by their taunts. It was perfectly ridiculous, but in spite of my wife’s reassuring glances reminding me of my worth as a husband, a father, and a man, I felt powerfully compelled to respond; either with an immediate “Okay, let’s go. Here’s the money. What do I have to do?” OR with an unreasoning anger against these men whose shouting made me feel so helplessly put upon.

I felt like I’d better DO something lest all order be reduced to chaos. What kind of a man am I?

After we made it past the shouting, my thoughts turned inevitably to the then-seemingly omnipresent, American presidential campaign. How to talk and think about it redemptively had been on my mind every day. Some especially provocative words on the question of how to participate in the electoral process while attempting to bear faithful witness to the kingdom of God came, within a few days of each other, from Mark Noll of Wheaton, Alasdair MacIntyre of Notre Dame, and Sanskrit scholar, Brazos author, First Things contributor, Paul J. Griffiths. They all seemed to agree that “none of the above” was probably the most coherently Christian response. My experience with the carnival barkers and all the parallels it brought to my mind came close to putting me in agreement. The only way to respond redemptively and reasonably to the proffered alternatives might be to devote our energies elsewhere. How might we say Yes to humans and No to the insane paradigm that’s been foisted upon us?

In a beautiful moment of clarity, the President had casually remarked to Matt Lauer of NBC that, of course, the war on terror can’t be won. Enough of the crazy talk. A war on terror, like a war on sin or Jupiter or gravity, won’t be won by anything so human and finite as a nation-state. We can all admit as much, can’t we? We aren’t hunting down Moby Dick after all. But within days, it became clear to someone within the campaign that the masses required a very different tune, and the President spoke into the camera with the same old song, “Let me be clear, we WILL win the war on terror.”

And Senator Kerry, who once famously confessed to shooting a fleeing Vietnamese soldier under the banner of an absolutely necessary war on evil, found himself putting on an Ahab face as he assured the cameras that, under his leadership, we will hunt down and kill all terrorists.

For God’s sake, pray for these men, I told my students. But don’t miss the strangeness and the tragedy of what’s going on. And don’t let your own, beleaguered hold on truthfulness be hijacked by someone else’s talking points. I wanted them to understand that, here in the land of the free, it’s probably our patriotic duty to recognize and think clearly about the absurd plight (or chosen vocation) of these two men.

In an age of high-tech carnival barking, they might be, in a very real sense, our two least free citizens, at least until after the election. And even then, can the words we speak be completely divorced from who we are or what we’ve become? What about the words to which we listen? How might we hear and respond without forfeiting our souls?

The language of the sales pitch is, by definition, untruthful, and steeling ourselves against its false urgency and its presumption of moral authority will often be a very difficult task. When we manage to remove ourselves out of shouting range, we can see that those who feel compelled to speak in sales pitch in the hope of getting ahead are to be pitied. But more often than not, we find ourselves somehow unwittingly enlisted. Sometimes we find someone else’s talking points coming out of our own mouths in what started out as an honest conversation with a neighbor or relative. We confuse actual people for the stances and issues we associate with them based on whoever it is we suspect they’re voting for.

I doubt I’m alone in my experience of some church communities acting an awful lot like sleeper cells for the Republican Party and too many conversations (with other people of faith) turning inevitably toward a word of passionate disdain for President Bush as a person.

We dilate the significance of our witness when we allow our speech to play into a “moral values” market category or a pillar in the architecture of Karl Rove. Ancient wisdom has long notified that the powerful and the self-justifying, self-described righteous will barter in truthlessness with the best of intentions, forcing themselves and their listeners into limited identities. Students of the Bible know that false authorities have a way of multiplying and coopting all things human and humane. Doing as they will, principalities and powers makes us deaf to the possibility of confession. They numb us to the joys of finding out, daily, how we’ve come to view the world wrongly and how we’ve failed to view our neighbors and enemies as sacraments in themselves.

Whenever we’re viewed as objects rather than participants (poll numbers, target markets, collateral damage), we can begin to note that we’ve entered into the carefully constructed system of fetishes called a commercial. Learning to doubt wisely, discern shrewdly, and pray generously might seem like too much extra work in an already overblown day. It helps when two or more are nearby (or e-mailable) to assist in the work of communal discernment which is the life of a functioning church. And it also helps if your token “two or more” isn’t caught in the exact same informational echo chamber in which many of us find ourselves.

In this new year, go have a conversation with that mysteriously kind, stumbling block of a friend who (you suspect) probably voted for Kerry. Sit down for coffee with that fellow who, in spite of his/her strange fondness for President Bush, has more time for more people than anyone you know. And (if you’re feeling really crazy), visit the basement apartment of your nearest Nader supporter with a homemade apple pie. Lord willing, it’ll be a redemptive time. We can make up our own talking points. And we can begin to try to live and love in a new way. We’re made for it.

Amen.