My last post was an interruption. If Substack was network television and I was Walter Cronkite, I would have begun, “We interrupt this broadcast to bring you this special report.”
The breaking news was that on July 1 the Supreme Court announced a significant decision regarding presidential immunity, essentially placing the president of the United States above the law.
When I began this newsletter, I had not planned to make it an outlet for breaking news or a forum for political argument (especially since, as I have stated, I stink at arguing). The purpose of this Substack (according to my own description) is “sharing what I have been privileged to learn as a religion and history professor at a small liberal arts college in a small town in Appalachian Ohio.” I planned to post about my teaching experience, include some humorous classroom anecdotes, maybe refer to a current holiday, using these examples as prompts for deeper reflection on the subjects I teach.
However, I decided that this Supreme Court decision was important enough and troubling enough to merit an interruption in my planned series of posts for the summer. Also, I believed I had something relevant to contribute to the conversation, based on “what I have been privileged to learn as a religion and history professor,” especially what I have learned from teaching a class on the First Amendment and religious freedom in the United States.
I wrote a post about the Jehovah’s Witnesses flag salute cases of the 1940s to show that in the past, as in the present, the Supreme Court can make bad decisions, but the Supreme Court (and the United States as a nation) is also capable of correcting those decisions.1
I published my special post, serendipitously, on the Fourth of July. Mission accomplished. Again, if this were network TV, the normal thing to do would be to “return to our regularly scheduled programming, now in progress.”
But guess what? There have been more interruptions since July 4.
First there was an assassination attempt on a presidential candidate Donald Trump on July 13. Three people, including the former president, were injured. Another person, Corey Comperatore, was killed. Then, on July 21, President Joe Biden ended his campaign for reelection and endorsed vice president Kamala Harris to run in his place.
These are both big events—events that should make us stop and think. Political violence should make us stop and think. Political power, and the extraordinary choice of a world leader to relinquish power and ambition, should make us stop and think. If a Supreme Court decision merits an interruption of my planned writing schedule, then surely these events do even more so.
The thing is, when would it end? We have had so many interruptions over the past few months—too many to mention, and too many cans of worms to open if I did. There have been interruptions on the world and national stage. We have also all had our share of local interruptions closer to home—in our work, family, and personal lives. In the Torbett household, for example, our basement flooded.
A word we keep hearing amidst all these interruptions is “unprecedented.” A popular meme that my friends have been posting online over the past few weeks has been “I could really go for some precedented times.” A quick internet search, however, reveals that the meme goes back at least four years—back to the unprecedented January 6 insurrection in 2021, back to the beginning of the unprecedented Covid 19 pandemic in 2020.
So, there you have it: two cans of worms I hadn’t planned to open. And I could open many more, working my way even further back in time, from one unprecedented interruption to a previous one, to my first semester of fulltime teaching, the fall of 2001. Classes were cancelled on September 11 due to an unprecedented terrorist attack on American soil. Remember that interruption?
As a society, we have been hit with so many unprecedented events that, paradoxically, we have come to expect them. I don’t mean to minimize these events or claim that their importance has been exaggerated. For most of the events of the recent past, the designation “unprecedented” is entirely appropriate. Not for our basement flooding though—that has happened before.
If anything, I am trying to maximize these interruptions. I am trying to put a pause on the fight/flight mode that the seemingly constant deluge of unprecedented events has put us in. I am trying to make space for us to stop and think, not only about these two recent interruptions of July, 2024, but about interruptions in general.
Has there ever been an interruption that really makes people stop and think? Has an interruption ever changed how people behave, especially when it comes to the use of violence and the exercise of political power? Again, as I did for my previous post, I looked to the past for an example. For this post, however, I am going much farther back in time—to King Ashoka of India in the third century BCE.
Ashoka was the third ruler of the Mauryan dynasty. He expanded the kingdom he inherited from his grandfather Chandragupta to include almost the whole Indian subcontinent. But Ashoka profoundly regretted the suffering caused by his war of conquest of Kalinga. He became conscience-stricken, which led to an abrupt interruption in his life and consequently in the empire he ruled.
Ashoka converted to Buddhism. He devoted the rest of his life to humane governance of his realm, emphasizing compassion and nonviolence. He renounced conquest by the sword and committed to a program of “conquest by dharma.” He sent not armies but Buddhist teachers to foreign lands, to make available to all the path of freedom from suffering.
Of course, Ashoka’s situation as a rich and powerful king was very different from that of ordinary people of the past and of the present. While ordinary people were interrupted by events beyond their control, Ashoka could make events happen. He could create interruptions. On the other hand, Ashoka’s place of power made it more difficult for him to be affected by interruptions. It it not so easy for an emperor to stop and think and consider changing his ways.
An emperor’s position has always been precarious, much more so than it seems on the surface. They have to hold on to power or lose it in a nasty and painful way. They can’t afford to be perceived as weak. They can’t show signs uncertainty or vulnerability. But that is what Ashoka did on an unprecedented scale.
There have been other famous, albeit controversial, instances of powerful kings who have had moments of regret or who repented of one thing or another. Usually though, if a conqueror was sorry for anything, he was, like Alexander the Great, sorry he didn’t conquer more lands. Emperors don’t typically repent of the pain and suffering they have caused by the wars that brought them into power. They don’t typically vow to atone for their misdeeds with acts of gentleness and compassion.
To be fair, I am presenting an idealized version of Ashoka, created in part by his own propaganda, the inscribed pillars that he had erected throughout India. But look at what Ashoka chose to idealize and propagandize!
The monuments and inscriptions of other emperors testify to their moral superiority, their divine authority, and their willingness and ability to maintain that authority by force. Ashoka, on the other hand, made monuments to his regret, repentance, and willingness to atone. He literally wrote these things on stone, making them central to who he is and how he should be remembered. I know of no other conquering emperor who has done this.
So, in a sense, it was actually more difficult for Ashoka to stop and think, to reflect and change, than it is for us. But he did. If he could do it, so can we, and so can others.
Exposure to violence can lead to a person to renounce, not only violent action, but violent and divisive rhetoric. Sadly, though, it does not always.
Exposure to wisdom and compassion does not always lead a person to renounce power and ambition for the sake of the common good. Happily, though, it does sometimes.
I hope that this interruption has given you the space to stop and think about unprecedented events. I hope Ashoka’s story gives you hope that interruptions can bring change for the better. Thank you for reading. We now return you to our regularly scheduled series of posts on summer holidays and the Apostle Paul, in progress.
Except…while I was preparing this post, the kerfuffle about the Paris Olympics Opening Ceremonies happened, and I probably won’t be able to resist interrupting again to write about that. So, stay tuned anyway.