The 50th anniversary of the 1963 March on Washington triggered a remarkable array of commentaries from all
angles.
Many naturally focused on Martin Luther King’s “I Have
a Dream” speech, some specifically singling out his vision of an America where character counts more than color.
Some argued
that we should also remember that other leaders, like A. Philip Randolph, were
also major figures in that event. Some sought to remind us that the event’s
prime focus was not only racial equality but rather “jobs and freedom.” Some
commented that the March’s call for greater rights and opportunity has
relevance today, beyond the African-American community, for immigrants, gays,
undocumented workers, and those suffering from our current economic malaise. Some,
finally, reminded us that King’s vision later widened beyond civil rights to
embrace non-violence in all its forms—including his controversial opposition to
the war in Vietnam and his call for a non-violent spiritual revolution.
But amid this array of remembrance and interpretation
one thing seems clear. The March on Washington, not just for those attending or
viewing on TV, but for those who learned about it later, established Martin
Luther King as one of the great—if not the greatest—wisdom figures in American
life.
He is not alone: Americans find wisdom in Thomas
Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, Susan B. Anthony, and others. But for at least 45
years (since his April 1968 assassination) King has stood out. He is now the
only American honored with his own national holiday. His letters and speeches
are treasured by millions and studied in schools across the land. His face is
as well-known as any American in history, and his memorial on the National Mall
is a rare honor for a non-president. His “I Have a Dream” speech—much of it
improvised in a moment of inspiration—is often regarded as the greatest
American speech of the 20th century.
King’s iconic status means that people admire him even
if they know little about him. It means they are inspired by what they do know
of his vision and values. It means they conform their vision of America—and of life—to his. It means that King’s opinions and
convictions are largely beyond scrutiny and criticism for millions. In a
secular society not given to devotion, he is venerated as former ages venerated
saints.
In this he shares a rare popular status accorded very
few individuals in the modern world. In Western culture, such iconic status is
reserved for those who wield wisdom rather than power. Heads of state,
generals, and corporate giants do not acquire such status. It goes instead to
people like Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Albert Schweitzer, Dorothy Day, Oscar
Romero, and Martin Luther King.
For me this raises a point of personal curiosity. As
we observe the March’s 50th anniversary, I wonder: Who are the
wisdom figures in each of our lives?
I ask this question for myself and my own generation,
but especially for my children’s generation. And I ask for two reasons.
First, because any life without wisdom cannot be fully
lived. The mystery of life is too complex and rich to savor without some
insight into its true meaning and value. And few humans possess the personal
tools to plumb that mystery alone, without the help of others. The “examined
life” is not a solo performance. We need wisdom figures just to appreciate our
own lives. So we turn to those who inspire us with insights that surpass our
own.
Second, I ask because our times demand wisdom more
than ever. Vatican Council II (1962-1965) absolutely nailed our current
challenge when it observed that the human race had never acquired so much new
power so fast as it had in the 20th century. And it reminded us that
such vast growth in power requires a parallel growth in wisdom. For only wisdom
can harness power and steer it toward good; without wisdom, growing power risks
growing dangers. In the 50 years since Vatican II, the specters of
nuclear war, climate change, international terrorism, ecological and economic
disaster, genocide, bioengineering and technology run amok have all confirmed
Vatican II’s view that our future depends on matching our expanding powers with
expanded wisdom.
But where do we find such wisdom? Who offers it?
Of course, wisdom may be sought in literature,
philosophy, and art as well as in our religious traditions. But most people
find it embodied in exceptional individuals who point us to those other
sources. The March’s anniversary reminds us that, for millions of Americans,
that individual is Martin Luther King. And that is a good thing.
But I wonder still about many born since King died,
raised in a world saturated with comfort and convenience yet consumed with
anxiety about the future of their lives, their nation, and their world. Who
offers them the wisdom they need?
Sometimes we read of the next generation’s search for
heroes—but heroism is about achievement and character, while wisdom is about
insight and vision. Athletes can be role models and heroes, but make unlikely
wisdom figures. Celebrities are known for their fame but not for their
insight. People in public office may be admired for their abilities and
occasionally even for their courage, but politics is seldom seen as wisdom’s
natural home. Corporate giants may be shrewd and powerful and even ruthless,
but few of us believe that the bottom line reveals much about the fullness of
life.
So if young Americans need wisdom figures—and they
do—but cannot find them in sports, show business, politics, or the corporate
world—where can they find them? (All evidence suggests, of course, that
they will not even LOOK within religious institutions).
I think back to my own formative years, and think of
the people who inspired me with their wise insights into life’s purpose and
value. When the pop song “Alfie” asked “What’s it all about?” I turned to
the obvious figure from my own family religious tradition: Jesus. And as I came
of age I found other figures to follow. Often these were people themselves
inspired by Jesus, or else were following visions that complemented what I knew
of Jesus’ wisdom.
Over time I was lucky enough to find many wisdom
figures to inspire and guide me.
There was John XXIII, the pope who proved that our
ancient faith and the contemporary world need not be estranged. There was Pete
Seeger, the troubadour who made his music a voice for justice. There was Guy
Leger, a Dominican priest who taught me that all true beauty, just like all
goodness, is sacred.
There was Dag Hammarskjold, UN leader who linked the
spiritual life and public policy. There was Albert Schweitzer, who showed how crucial
but how also how challenging it is to practice “reverence for life.” There was
Gandhi, who proved that non-violent love could conquer hate. There was Bob Lindsay, a Jesuit priest who taught me
to find reality beyond appearances.
Dag Hammarskjold |
There was Dorothy
Day, who reminded us of the non-violent love at the core of Christian faith.
There was King himself, who linked Gandhian non-violence with the gospel-fired
flame of racial justice.
Some of those people I was blessed to know. The others
I was blessed to know about. I am still eager to find new wisdom figures: since
finishing two recent biographies of Francis of Assisi, I suspect I may soon add
his name to my list. All told, it is a good list: robust enough to fuel much
reflection on my life and living.
But the main thing is to HAVE such a list, to know the
answer to the question: “Who is on MY list? Who are MY wisdom figures?”
That question is also important to those you love:
where do they seek and find the wisdom that enriches their lives and nurtures
their spirit?
Celebrating the 50th anniversary of the
March on Washington, countless observers spoke of "progress”
to measure that event’s legacy. How they assess our “progress” seems to depend
on their interpretation of that event’s meaning. So they measure racial
justice, or the range of freedom, or economic opportunity, or social equality,
or even the strength of our hope or the scope of our national vision.
But for those who now see wisdom in the figure of
Martin Luther King, perhaps “progress” is more personal, and must be measured
more by the vitality of our spirits than by the prosperity of our land, more
by the peace in our hearts than by the turmoil in our world. For King never
spoke without preaching, and behind all his preaching was the gospel of peace.
Bernard F. Swain
PhD 2010
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