VIOLENCE AND ADDICTION

My heart aches as I visualize the horror and tragedy of the Newtown, Connecticut massacre. What must have been going through Adam Lanza's mind as he killed his mom, 6 school staff and 20 children, before taking his own life? How could anyone slaughter defenseless children, innocents like my grandson, 'little Gus' – children who had not begun to achieve their potential, who were trusting and full of life?

Certainly we need to act in the short term to curb this kind of violence. We need to limit the use of guns, particularly assault rifles and other weapons designed for killing people. We need mandatory background checks with waiting periods for all people purchasing guns. We need to treat gun violence as a health crisis while providing mental health programs for those in need of them.

Still, as I listen to the blaming and political posturing attendant to this calamity, I have the uncomfortable feeling that such programs alone are insufficient. I believe that I, and many other Americans, am complicit in this violence. Our complicity lies in the fact that we have failed to treat the addictive patterns that infect our society and breed violence. The 'We' in “We the People” is largely absent. We have little ability to identify with the distress of others. Hence, our desire to alleviate this distress has been deadened.

We are isolated from one another, and isolation kills compassion. Violence flourishes because we no longer look out for each other. We respond only when we are directly threatened.

It is easy to blame this lack of caring on the political and religious divisiveness in our society. Liberals blame the NRA and conservatives for the violence. Conservatives blame liberals whose big government policies are threatening individual freedoms. It is true that such divisiveness corrodes our unity. Yet, I feel there is another dynamic at work; a dynamic that functions at an almost unconscious level.

We live in a society that promotes addiction.

We are bombarded by messages telling us to strive for some sort of societal ideal. If I exercise, I can look like the body builder in the TV commercial. If I participate in a self improvement program, I can become the perfect husband and parent. If I enroll in a particular educational curriculum, I will be successful in my work. Even our religious groups are caught in this dynamic. If I attend a particular faith community, I will be saved from the problems that confront me.

This addictive dynamic affects us all.

I have come to realize that I am a work-o-holic. I'm addicted to work. My drive to promote justice in Madison Urban Ministry (MUM) had a compulsive dynamic. At one level, I worked through MUM because I was concerned for those treated unjustly. At another level, I worked to fix my low self image. I sought to earn the admiration of men and the adoration of women through my work. My family suffered. In fact my wife said that MUM was my mistress. My compulsion put my health in jeopardy. I pushed myself, continually seeking another fix, until my body gave out with chronic fatigue.

As with all addictions, my fixes were short lived. The more I tried, the more inadequate I felt. There was always another issue, another conflict, another venue in which I sought affirmation. I tried to hide my real self from others, posing as the super organizer in control of every situation. Since I hadn't learned to accept my limitations and inadequacies, I denied or criticized those parts of myself that I consider flawed or undesirable. I wasn't able to “Fail With Soul.” (See my last blog entry.) The more this pretending and denying continued, the more isolated I became. I can now understand why many community organizers are 'lone rangers.' In my isolation, it was 'me against the world.'

Unlike addictions to drugs, alcohol, sex and food, addiction to work (and its attendant addictions to money, power and consumer goods) is explicitly fostered in our culture. I thought I could be successful through my compulsive attention to work. What I couldn't comprehend was that success in my work couldn't fill that empty space in my soul. That space yearned for self acceptance, not acceptance from others.

You may not be addicted according to the clinical definition of the word. But I'll bet you are prone to engage in some patterns in your life in the hope that these patterns will increase your sense of self worth. Perhaps your exercise regimen has a compulsive edge. Maybe your diet consciousness is a bit driven. Perhaps you depend on relationships with family members to make you feel better about yourself. Maybe you use leisure activities as a way of escaping from your own self critical tendencies.

As you consider these dynamics in your life that potentially isolate you from others, be assured that I'm not condemning these dynamics in themselves. Exercise, family time, delicious food and satisfying work can be blessings that enhance life.

What I am suggesting is that our cultural patterns promote addictions. That is to say, our culture promises us satisfaction and wholeness if we embrace certain conventions. This promise is bogus. Outward patterns won't yield acceptance. This is an internal dynamic. If you find yourself depending on a particular practice to give meaning to your life, ask if this dynamic isolates you from the stranger and deadens your compassion for those outside your immediate circle of family and friends. This same dynamic may also isolate you from yourself, particularly from those parts which you don't like very much.

Twelve step programs have proven helpful to folks who are strongly addicted. I am suggesting that the twelve steps may also be helpful in dealing with the addictive or compulsive tendencies in our lives, even if we are not addicted in the clinical sense. Step one challenges us to admit that we are not in control of our lives. In this context, step one challenges us to admit that the addictive patterns in the culture control us unconsciously. Steps two and three, contend that there is a higher power that can be relied upon for assistance. For some this higher power is God, in the traditional sense. For others it may be a support group or some other aspect of their lives. Abraham Lincoln referred to this higher power as our “better angels¹ .”

Steps four through ten challenge us to acknowledge our short comings and to take responsibility for actions that have harmed ourselves and others. This is an opportunity to embrace our true selves, warts and all. This is also an opportunity to bring to consciousness the ways in which cultural attitudes and patterns are affecting us.  Steps eleven and twelve, encourage us to continue and to engage others on the journey.

This then is my hope. If a committed number of us could embark on this journey, it might be possible to transform the addictive patterns of our society. Then perhaps, our children would have the opportunity to grow up to be healthy and loving people.

This will take courage. It takes courage to name and accept our own shortcomings without turning to addictive patterns that we hope will save us. It takes courage to name the shortcomings of our society with love and acceptance rather than condemnation. It takes courage to admit that we may need to rely on our “better angels” to redeem our destructive cultural patterns.

It's scary to embrace Adam Lanza and his mother with compassion even as we embrace the families of the twenty-six children and adults killed by Adam Lanza.

Living with Soul is not a sentimental reality in some ideal world. Living with Soul is a gritty possibility in our real world. In light of the Newtown massacre it may literally be a matter of life and death.

1) Better Angels – used in the closing paragraph of Lincoln's First Inaugural Address