Radical: A Returning to the Root

Whenever a tragic event transpires because of an individual’s actions such as the recent Boston Marathon bombing or the terrorist attracts of September 11th 2001 or even a protest held by the Westboro Baptist Church, we tend to talk of these people/groups as radical. We also label them as extremists. Which one is it? Are all radicals extremists as well? Now these two words are different and yet we use them as if they were interchangeable and I’m not too certain they can be used so fluidly. I want to examine these words and use them in right and appropriate ways.* 

The word radical comes from the Latin radix meaning root. This means that when something is radical it is relating to the root or base. Roots are important. They dig deep, the spread into the dark and find things which have been lost. They discover new areas. They also provide nourishment to the rest of the plant.

I have studied many so-called radical groups as a part of my undergrad education. Generally radical groups, or more commonly known as separatist groups, split off from the main-stream because they feel a calling to go deeper (notice I didn’t use extreme though I grammatically could have). Political radicals can be seen all over the spectrum. When Charlotte Bunch and other separatist feminist of the early 1970’s started The Furies Collective, they went in search of political refuge, acceptance, the idea of woman, what it means to be a lesbian just to name a few. They dug deep into the ideas of what it meant to be a woman, where the political process of America was headed, and how to change the culture around them. Marilyn Frye, theorist and lesbian feminist philosopher, says that “A separatist practices separation consciously, systematically, and probably more generally than the others, and advocates thorough and “broadspectrum” separation as part of the conscious strategy of liberation”. In short, she sees a separatist, and I would correlate this with a radical practice, as the willful exorcise of oneself from a community in order to liberate, or free, the self. (Frye) They needed to separate themselves from the over-culture in order to really get into the heart of their experiences as women, as lesbians, and as members of democratic society.

When religious groups becomes radical they are often seeking a more interpersonal experience with the divine as their tradition sees it. This looks different depending on the religion, the tradition, and the power structure of that group. Radical Christians dive deep into the social well-being of their community bolstered by the exemplary life of Jesus. (Fisher 219) Nuns, monks, and hermits of all the worlds’ traditions are radical in that they want to feel their idea of the divine so much that the outside world must be left behind. In terms spiritual anatomy the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Chakras slow down so the heart (4th), mind (5th), and crown (6th an 7th) may be fully open to the experience/imminence of the divine.(Myss) Siddhartha (Buddha) sat under a tree, Jesus went to the garden, Muhammad went to the mountain, Inanna left heaven and earth and went into the underworld where everything she had was taken from her.

And here is the other half of what it means to be a Radical. They must bring back what they learned and experienced to the community. I don’t know if it is the radical’s journey to stay radical forever or if there is a katabatic (to descend and return) cycle. Roots bring nutrition to the rest of the plant; same can be said for a radical person. Once the knowledge, experience, wisdom is found, it is the job of the Radical inform the community. Now wither or not the person with whom the Radical is in contact with is receptive of their message is not the point. The point is there is new wisdom to disperse. There are truths to be absorbed. The wisdom gets transported into the world and watered-down and altered which can disappoint/infuriate a radical. Thus, when faced with difficult and trying times, we humans and turn towards violent and iritic behaviors. I believe that is not the job of anyone, especially a radical, to use violent or corrosive force to disseminate their message. Not only does this give the whole community of which the radical is a part of a bad name but it negatively impacts the community in which we all live.

I hope I have opened your eyes to the idea that we use the label of radical far too often to describe people who act soul in destructive ways. I would say the amount of radicals who commit the hanus acts we hear about in the news is significantly less than we think. After examining the word radical and the whole would actually portray its characteristic, perhaps it is extremists, those who are on the limits of their community, who are the perpetrators of these great crimes. Maybe after reading this, and examining the groups you are a part of, you will find yourself a radical. What is calling you to dig deeper? What is calling you away from the over-culture and towards a more intense study? What lessons have you learned from being so close to a topic it calls in to question everything you’ve known to be true? What called you and you responded with such a fervent yes, every shred of rationality said to go forth? What lessons have you learned there in the deep?

NEXT WEEK: Extremist

*When was examine the words we are choosing to say we slow down and use a more prudent and judicious speech. This means we describe the word more accurately, view it more sharply, and are able to create stronger bonds i.e. our relationship to ourselves and to each other. Example: How do you describe yourself? What is the narrative you are saying about yourself? What do you so casually say you hate/like/want/love and how is that constructing how you view yourself/your actions? How do you label the world (other people, places, and events) and how does that help/hinder the way in which we move forward?

Bibliography

Fisher, Mary Pat. "Women in Christianity." Women in Religion. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson Education, 2007. 188-233. Print.

Frye, Marilyn. "Some Reflections on Separatism and Power." Feminist Theory: A Reader. Ed. Wendy K. Kolmar and Frances Bartkowski. 3rd ed. New York: McGraw-Hill, 2010. 275-81. Print.

Myss, Caroline. The Language of Archetypes: Discover the Forces That Shape Your Destiny. Boulder, CO: Sounds True, 2006. Audio.

Ida of Kildare

ĺda was a child, barely six years of age, when she was brought to the abbey of Kildare. When she arrived her stomach was as empty as her head. She wasn’t the only little girl there. Nuns herded groups of five or six into and out of buildings like the shepherds that herded the little black and white and brown sheep. She gave a fearful good-bye as her father deposited her into the hands of the sisters dressed in gray. She cried mightily for several days when she realized he would never would come back for her. Some nuns were kind and took compassion on her; finger combing her hair until she fell asleep. Some nuns were neither kind nor caring. They had seen this before and showed no mercy; little girl comes, cries, and carries on with her life. This was the way of things at monasteries and they believed Kildare should be no different.

With a bent head she learned to read and write with rest of the little girls. She took to the learning of Latin verse and prayer as a babe takes to the breast. Of all the girls there at Kildare, ĺda was the one who recited the rosary and the Lord ’s Prayer the best. Her vowels were strong and her consonants sharp.  By age nine she knew the linage of Christ, the number of popes in the Holy See, and even a little Greek she learned form a traveling Bard who had a little yellowing scroll bearing the names of prophets she had never heard of before.

Ĺda, head always bowed as in prayer or titled toward an illuminated manuscript. She did not find outside world beautiful nor pleasant as ink on velum. The pastures of sheep terrified her as the reciting of rosaries did not. She said their eyes were slant wise and would twist her mind in evil and unwanted ways. The forest too was filled with terrors only Satin himself could have vomited into the world. Treacherous mushrooms and trees branched out in twisted and obscene angles only to reach out to devour wandering travelers whole. The worst of the hillsides wonders were the little folk. The nuns whispered in their tiny ears that they were demons who donned unholy tattoos and danced around fires every night, singing prayers to their earthly gods. They instructed all students to stay within the nunnery grounds; that the lights in the hills would steel their very souls. Ĺda, who trembled like twigs in the wind at the mention of anything that might come from within the dark, green wood consumed every word of the nuns folktales. 

Mother Lìadan scolded them. She called them fools. She heard their non-sense as she prayed in the little chapel or sat beside the holy well of St. Brigid. She was old, far older than any of the other nuns clothed in brown or gray. Though her hands were roped and her face withered as February apples she still managed to bring in water from the well, tend the herbs, and lift herself after kneeling for many hours without the aid of others. She has seen the faire folk and knew they are neither demons nor evil spirits sent by Satin to spread sin across the green and fair Ireland.

“Those folk are harmless and know the joys of life as you or I never will,” she said with spite. She looked at Sister Marie and Sister Dorianne squarely under her wrinkled brow. “They come to drink from the well just as we do. This is a blessed place. All who come before God, by whatever name they call him, are slacked of thirst here and should be welcomed with open arms.”

With that she says no more but bitterly sips her thin mutton broth. The cross of St. Brigid swung back and forth, like a pendulum. Its reed-woven form kept time in the rarefied air and no one spoke for the rest of the lunch hour. She knew what they said about her in the secrecy of cloister or garden wall. They said she was actually a Druid. They said she called their patron saint by her old name. They said she knows how to make poisons from herbs. The worst she ever heard was that she was in league with the devil himself. 

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Hope you enjoyed this little piece of fiction. I know it sounds a little dogma heavy but it gets far more interesting. I'm nearly done with the first draft. This will be the February Lunacy Project. If you like it then share this post with your friends. If you have $5.00 and want the whole thing, sign up for this month over at my website. I'm so happy to have inspiration once again!