|
Proclaim
Peace
by
Dean Hughes
Editors'
Note: Novelist Dean Hughes has written a series of books called
Children of the Promise that explore how World War II blasts a Latter-day
Saint family from Salt Lake apart into a world where they face death
and war, and tests of their own faith. His new novel, Writing on
the Wall is the first of a series looking at the impact of the 60's
on the children of that same family. Meridian's editors asked him,
as one who has contemplated deeply, the effect of war on the human
spirit, to comment on our current situation.
I've spent
most of the last decade studying World War II. In doing that, I've
tried to challenge the myths and discover what that time was actually
like. One of the standard claims about the forties is that everyone
was united, that a wonderful feeling of patriotism and togetherness
prevailed. Studs Terkel, in his book The Good War, challenged
that memory as more legend that reality, and I do suspect that people
tend to idealize the past. Still, I found myself adjusting my opinion
in the days that followed the terrorist attack on New York and Washington.
At no time in my life have I felt such a brotherhood and sisterhood
with the people of my country, and never have I been brought to
tears so often. What I also recognize is that following the attack
on Pearl Harbor-the last occasion of such a horror perpetrated on
our country-a great sacrifice was asked of the people, and the sacrifice
was made. Nothing, I suspect, could extend such feelings as much
as a continued challenge, continued need, continued loss of life.
Maybe the people who lived through World War II are remembering
something much more real and constant than I had supposed. And maybe,
in the coming months and years, we too will be asked to give as
much. We hope not, of course, but I think we have all felt in recent
days that tragedy has its value. We have been jarred from our security,
but also from our complacence and pride, and I think we feel better
for it.
In Children
of the Promise, I tried to take a hard look at a hard time.
I tried to help readers understand the conflicts. Could a religious
family face separation and loss and still stay unified? Could a
man be a warrior and a Christian simultaneously? Could a POW hold
onto love while the object of so much hate? Could the emotional
scars of war be overcome by family support, by love of a spouse
and children, by trust in God? While I offered affirmative answers,
I tried not minimize the difficulty, and certainly I admitted that
many, in facing such challenges, did lose faith. The Thomas Family,
in my novels, comes through better than most, but not without times
when it seemed unlikely, and not without painful changes and adjustments.
Still, the novels are as much about coming home as they are about
leaving, and in the end, faith is the soft tissue that proves itself
tough as bone.
Now I'm writing
about a different kind of era in a new series called Hearts
of the Children. No one remembers unity during the sixties.
In this case, I know more about the atmosphere. I was there. I was
a grad student at the University of Washington when classes were
shut down in response to the Kent State shootings. I watched armed
police, visors in place, clubs in hands, march across the campus.
I actually heard the sound a nightstick makes when it strikes a
skull. I arrived on campus some mornings to find buildings bombed
or set on fire, and I saw students-idealistic, concerned people,
many of whom I knew and liked-hurl rocks and bottles at those police.
I even witnessed angry demonstrations by the Black Student Union
against BYU-and by extension, against my church.
The sixties
were as angry and divisive as advertised. Everyone was trying to
make sense of questions that were too big to be answered easily,
and people on all sides-good people-gave way to anger. Order finally
returned, sometimes only with force, but the sense was that the
rebellion had failed in the end. Perhaps so, but the world was never
the same. The nation didn't accept the solutions that the young
revolutionaries fought for, but transitions were begun, and most
of us, hardly realizing it, now accept many of those changes.
Whites may
have resented the anger of a Malcolm X, but how many would now espouse
the racism that existed before the civil rights movement? The women's
movement may have changed families in ways that are not always positive,
but how many women, or men, would like to go back to male/female
relationships of earlier eras? Above all, the sixties raised questions
about war: How far should the United States go in playing watch
dog for the world? When is war justified?
When our involvement
in Vietnam began to accelerate in the mid-sixties, almost all Americans
agreed that "stopping Communism" was a worthy goal, worth risking
lives for. By the early seventies, many Americans were angry with
the leaders of the anti-war movement, but the war had worn thin,
and few people believed that it would result in a triumph over Communism.
What is not clear to me is whether we, as a people, changed our
opinion about war. I have a feeling we are about to find out.
It's interesting
to ask what God thinks of war. The question itself makes us nervous
about some of the feelings we may have been harboring since September
11. In the Doctrine and Covenants, Section 98, verse 16,
the Lord tells his people to "renounce war and proclaim peace."
Certainly, few human actions revolt him more than watching one of
his children kill another. The "shedding of innocent blood" is clearly
one of the most grievous of sins. Time and again, Christ expressed
his love for peacemakers, and the gospel itself is referred to as
the "gospel of peace."
Christianity,
however, does not demand pacifism. Scriptures in the Book of
Mormon- even after Christ's visit to the Nephites-grant conditions
under which war is justifiable. The stripling warriors may represent
one worthy way of dealing with war, but Captain Moroni represents
another. War in defense of the innocent, in defense of families,
in defense of the gospel, can be honorable. What the Lord despises
is bloodthirstiness, viciousness, corruption, secret combinations,
killing for its own sake. What he offers is an option so difficult
it tests us as much as the challenge to love our enemies. He asks
those who fight for just causes to fight with no satisfaction in
the killing, and even more, without the loss of spirit.
The problem,
of course-and the problem I explore through Alex, in the Children
of the Promise-is that it's almost impossible to wallow in
mud without getting filthy. Certain Book of Mormon warriors
seem to rise to the level God expects; they fight without losing
their spiritual commitment to truth and honor. But no drill sergeant
dares to send his troops into battle without filling them with the
attitude he feels necessary for killing: hatred toward a dehumanized
enemy. So that's the dilemma. A warrior without hate in his heart
struggles to do his job. A hard-fighting warrior, with love in his
heart-even for those he kills-must surely be rare, and yet, that
is what God expects. It's hard to imagine a more difficult line
to walk.
Just five hours
after the first attack on the World Trade Center, BYU students,
faculty and staff were called together for a prayer meeting. The
Marriot Center was almost filled. We all sang "Come, Come Ye Saints,"
heard an opening prayer, and then President Merrill J. Bateman spoke
to the students. He mourned the death and destruction, but he asked
the students to be calm, to continue their work, to trust in God.
And then he prayed. He asked for a blessing upon the victims and
their families, and then he said what many of us were probably not
ready to hear: "Bless the perpetrators." I don't remember the exact
words that followed, but I know that he asked that the terrorists'
hearts could be changed. I was profoundly touched that he could
express love for an enemy, and do it so soon after the atrocity.
I knew that what he was asking was exactly right. God loves terrorists,
however much he may hate terrorism. And it's only for him to judge
their punishment.
We wonder how
anyone can go to war and hold onto a spirit of love. But then, how
different is it to go to work everyday, or school, and love everyone,
even the people who annoy us? What is more difficult than pursuing
a living, competing for scarce dollars, hoping to "rise in the company,"
without seeing our co-workers as the enemy? How can we live in our
materialistic society, grab for goods, and remain spiritually grounded?
The point I wanted to make, through my stories of World War II,
is not just that it's hard to be a loving family in a time of war,
but that it's hard all the time-and yet, possible. By the strength
of good will, faith, commitment, humor and love, the Thomases do
well, if not perfectly well, and they do it in spite of their human
weaknesses. Even good President Thomas, stake president and patriarch
of the family, has feet of clay. But look down; so do we all. Now
look up. Much is asked of us, no matter how weak we are.
Right now,
with a new enemy, we certainly have a new test. What I hope is that
we will react not only with emotion but with thought and spirit.
I have some great concerns. I worry that we will react out of anger
and lust for revenge, and we will disappoint our Lord. When I heard
President Bateman pray for our enemy, I knew I had to rise to a
higher level of spirituality. I had to think the way a disciple
of Christ should think. In our zeal to fight terrorism, I hope we
don't rush headlong into an action that accomplishes nothing and
sheds a great deal of innocent blood. I believe our leaders will
be wise about that, but I also believed that in 1965. We must always
be careful about giving leaders carte blanche. We must
ask the right questions, learn the issues, and pray for guidance-not
only for our leaders but for ourselves.
What I hope,
more than anything, is that we can learn from this experience-gain
a perspective we won't let go of. After the tragedy, certain violent
movies were delayed because producers considered the release "insensitive."
Won't those same movies be just as brutal, just as bad for our spirits,
in coming months? Athletes were saying that sports were "just a
game." Won't that still be true in the future, or will we once again
give sports a disproportionate emphasis in our lives? In our grief,
we are all giving. We are donating our blood and our money. But
isn't there always a need for blood, always a need for aid to those
who suffer? Will we continue to reach out, or will we slip back
into the materialism that lies close to our greedy hearts? We felt
something after the attack. We felt changed. Can we keep that feeling?
I believe we can, if we make a real effort, but I don't think it
will be easy. What kept the unity and concern for others alive in
World War II was the ongoing need for sacrifice. If little more
is asked of us this time, we stand in danger of slipping back into
our complacency.
It's not comfortable
to say so, but I think important to remember: We kill too. Every
society makes choices about when killing is justified. In World
War II, virtually every country involved dropped bombs on cities,
not to knock out strategic targets, but to destroy the cities themselves
and the people in them. I'm not trying to judge whether any or all
of those acts were necessary, but I hope that we would act with
great care when we choose to take lives. I would pray, especially,
right now, that our reaction to what we've experienced will be fair
and just. That may be a more complicated decision than we realize,
but if we believe in Christ, we will renounce war, only go into
it when the cause is clear, and we will commit our deepest efforts
to proclaiming peace.
There are so
many questions. But we absolutely must ask them. The great danger
to all of us is not that we will get weighed down by the difficult
judgments, but much more, that we will never even ask the questions,
that we'll merely let the world pull us along. I hope my books make
for good entertainment, but I also hope they cause readers to think
and pray. We need God's help in making such important choices, but
he can't put the answers in our heart if we don't make room for
them.
Click
here to sign up for Meridian's FREE email updates.
© 2001 Meridian
Magazine. All Rights Reserved.
|
