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Lessons from 9/11

by R. Kirby Godsey, President of Mercer University in Macon, GA

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September 11, or 9/11 as we have come to call it, has become a watermark for America, imprinted indelibly, though not always visibly, upon everything that we do. This startling moment, this moment in which we all fell silent, has changed our nation forever. We are unlikely to ever cross the threshold of that day on our calendar without being distracted from the ordinary.

Clearly, we have become a nation far more aware of our vulnerability. Before September 11, we would not have been preoccupied with the regimens or the rhetoric of homeland security. I still remember a sense of feeling vulnerable during the Cold War in the 1960's. People were building bomb shelters in their homes. After September 11, there seems no place to run, no safe shelter.

In the aftermath and the bewilderment of watching towers crumble and a tragedy that caused us all to weep, we recovered among us a sense of healthy patriotism, rescuing for a time that great tradition, wrenching it away from the crazies, the self-appointed militia living in the wilderness, and the unbridled right-wingers who were stealing and defiling the notion of being a patriot.

As we remember this dreadful, defining moment, we should learn that we will be tempted to take away the wrong lessons from September 11. This day bears searing, unforgettable testimony that we have not yet become fully civilized. At best we are somewhere along the way of becoming civil people, perhaps only in the infancy of that long journey. This anguishing event and its twisted wreckage expose the deep divides and the profound suspicions that haunt us along our way of trying to become more human. We are stunned by the hatred and bitterness that yields such destructive passion. Whenever people act hatefully and cruelly in the name of God or in the name of Allah, it is usually because they are acting in inhuman ways. Fear drives us toward hatred and we claim the approval of God in order to dampen the guilt that floods in from our own conscience.

Coping with our own raw sense of vulnerability, we are tempted to become focused on some combination of "buttoning-up" and revenge. We are naturally inclined to strengthen barriers, to build walls, and to secure boundaries. We find ourselves becoming a more closed society. Our reactions, mine and yours, are born of grief and dismay, born of fear and moral indignation, all of which are lodged deep within us. And while we have now engaged and are likely to remain engaged for years to come in this war against terrorism, we should not ourselves fall prey to regarding such actions as our own holy war. The war against terrorism is not a holy war. The acts of Al-Qaeda do not constitute a holy war. A war against Iraq would not be a holy war. These wars may represent the best that we can do, the best we can muster as a nation. But we would be mistaken to believe that our ultimate victory will be wrought by our military might. Wars, at best, represent our efforts to protect the modest advancements of civilization but they will rarely, if ever, become themselves instruments for advancing the progress of civilization.

Our human hope will lie in other directions. In the final analysis, becoming more closed, securing our boundaries will not bring us hope. At most, these steps can only deter tragedy. Intolerance and prejudice against other true believers who are themselves victims of the "holy war syndrome" will not bring us hope. We will have to look elsewhere if we are to find hope for our civilization.

Let us learn this hard lesson: Hatred cannot drive out hatred. Intolerance and prejudice cannot overcome ignorance and hostility. So, our day of remembrance will itself become defiled if we use our mourning to whip up the fires of national hostility and revenge.
Let our day of remembrance be marked more by silence than by scorching rhetoric.

In truth, the pathway of light and the way that breeds human hope is close to where you live. Military power may hold off the defeat of civilization's gains, but military power alone can never yield civilization's promise.

Human hope will have a chance when we hold high the canons of justice and the gifts of grace. Justice and grace seem frail words in the face of crumbling towers and fallen heroes. But let us learn this lesson – a lesson more to live than to speak. The courage to pursue justice and the courage and to embody grace will give us light that will never come from the blazing light of bombs and bullets. The relentless pursuit of justice and learning to live with grace will be the lamps of light that bring us hope. 

Our life together must reach for a wider embrace. Let us remember. God is not a Christian. God is not a Muslim. And God is not a Jew. God is above all our little gods. God is with us all. God is in us all. God is for us all. The tragedy of human evil is that in our fear, our human insecurity, we cannot find a way to be present in the world for one another. It will take great courage, to pursue justice and to embody grace, ultimately far more courage than to bear weapons. But I believe that it is the only way to become a civilized people. Pursue justice. Live with grace. Finally, it is the only way to become the people of God and a holy nation.