My Politics Problem

I have a problem with reading and processing politics. Its effects on me can be devastating.

I love to think about events in the outside world. I love to discuss politics, society, and law with friends, to write about them, and to teach about them. I tend to focus on worldviews different from my own, especially when I write. I seek to cultivate intellectual rigor and flexibility in my students. All this is worth my time, and I do it voraciously.

The health of the world depends on people thinking critically, I believe—breaking down ideas, considers counterarguments, and reaching provisional conclusions that can be amended or scrapped. Through teaching and writing about socio-politics, I guide others through this process. I contribute to the world by helping people learn to process ideas in ways that open up intellectual space. New socio-political opportunities arise when people think open-mindedly, rigorously, and creatively. I encourage students to approach history, including current history, with humility. By respectfully considering others’ conclusions, students fertilize their intellectual environment. They help change the world by thinking clearly and flexibly.

I am not a casual person. I respond to everything I do with emotional intensity. Observing politics and society is no exception.

Much as world events bring me pleasure, they also cause me distress. Political issues elicit powerful emotions in me, as they do in many people. Besides becoming inspired, I also become disgusted, desperate, and enraged. These emotions have value: they motivate people to repair institutions and achieve social justice. But, in teaching students to see beyond human differences, tumult harms me more than helps me.

I am an observer and converser, not an activist. Desperation interferes with humble reflection and discussion; it obstructs my ability to teach critical thinking. My writing, which focuses on belief systems different from mine, especially suffers when I feel enraged. Although these powerful emotions sometimes prompt spirited discussion, they can cause me to act in ways that hardly benefit me or the people who come into contact with me.

Moment to moment, I aim to cultivate serenity and flexibility, and my political rage drives me toward resentment and anger. Rage drives me to speak sharply and sow discord. Reading about political issues sparks my inner monster. I cannot teach effectively when I’m in monster mode.

My work in the world depends not only on broadmindedness but also on equanimity. Spiritual as well as intellectual wellbeing is paramount. Whenever I take in national and world news, I struggle to maintain gratitude and mindfulness.

To maintain equanimity, I periodically tune out the socio-political world. I’m not necessarily happy about this. My line of work depends on my reading and processing events in the outside world. But I am most dedicated to enacting love, and I love less when I argue more. And so, at times, I consciously remain unconscious of world events.

Still, I remain a compulsive consumer of politics. I cannot abstain for long.

My challenge lies in integrating my primary imperatives. How do I pursue excellence in all its aspects? How do I emotionally engage political and social events and still teach and write about them effectively? How do I consider national and international conflict in ways that open up space rather than shut it down?

To be sure, I do manage to integrate these tasks. My students and readers express satisfaction. But I could do a better job.