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Patience in politics (part 2)

Hammarskjöld looked at the challenges of politics from two perspectives, the first wholly factual and analytic, the second inspired by Judeo-Christian tradition and his faith in God and man. Like a diligent teacher, he was willing to make lists of practical strengths—for example, this inventory of what he called the fundamentals of good negotiation: "careful preparation, truthfulness, precision, patience, impassivity, and modesty".  But these good things need roots in good soil, and that can’t help but take us deeper down. The entries here are drawn from public talks of 1954—the first at the University of California (Berkeley), the second at a Christian ecumenical council. The latter is difficult, close to the bone. We hear him thinking, feeling his way to a fundamental insight. The topic here is patience, but it connects far and wide.

Hammarskjöld said:

I do not believe that any ready-made solutions can be found or that we can avoid a painful period of trial and error in the elaboration of the necessary tools. It will undoubtedly be a slow process requiring much patience, registering many shortcomings and mistakes, suffering serious setbacks.  But I am sure that such a process will ultimately yield results if approached and conducted in the right spirit.

The right spirit. From what I have said it is obvious that the first thing required is patience, the patience inspired by a firm faith in our ability to reach the goal. But we need more than patience in the passive sense. We need perseverance, of the kind that equips us not to take defeats to heart, in the knowledge that defeats are unavoidable, and that if our efforts do not seem to get results, it may be because we have not yet applied the necessary degree of perseverance.
(Public Papers 2, 297)

In the Sermon on the Mount it is said that we should take no thought of the morrow—"for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." Can anything seem farther from the practical planning, the long-term considerations typical of political life? And yet—is this not the very expression of the kind of patience we must all learn to show in our work for peace and justice? Mustn’t we learn to believe that when we give to this work, daily, what it is in our power to give, and when, daily, we meet the demands facing us to all the extent of our ability, this will ultimately lead to a world of greater justice and good will, even if nothing would seem to give us hope of success or even of progress in the right direction…. Certainly, the words about the evil of the day and the things of the morrow do not mean that our actions should not be guided by a thoughtful and responsible consideration of future consequences of what we do. But they do mean that our work for peace should be pursued with the patience of one who has no anxiety about results, acting in the calm self-surrender of faith.
(Public Papers 2, 356) 

The first passage amounts to a review for those who have already thought about the previous entry, Patience in politics (part 1). Hammarskjöld is again associating patience with perseverance and faith, as if any one without the others is weak or uncertain of its direction. A trinity of values worth keeping in mind. However, he enlarges on the meaning of perseverance; in his experience it’s not just a willingness to plow ahead, come what may, but also a warming and steadying attitude that "equips us not to take defeats to heart."

"Mustn’t we learn to believe…", he asks in the second passage. What we must learn is a thing of scope and grandeur. Hammarskjöld is asking how the formidable Gospel injunction, take no thought for the morrow, coheres with the practical need for "responsible consideration of [the] future consequences of what we do." His response leads to an enriched understanding of patience and of a kind of sufficiency—sufficiency insofar as one knows beyond doubt that one has given one’s all with force and finesse, no matter what the future may hold. He places all the emphasis on meeting demands to the full extent of one’s ability without anxiety as to whether things will work out as hoped. Based on his experience as a religious seeker with worldly responsibilities and a unique gift for effectively addressing them, he adds a third term: to act "in the calm self-surrender of faith."

As we often ask at this site: where are we now? To what has he led us? Hammarskjöld is exploring an enigma. Were one to take Jesus’ teaching literally, one could easily become a tramp or a parasite on the foresight and planning of others. Were one to ignore this great teaching—persuaded, for example, that it’s impractical, not meant for people seriously engaged in this world and its affairs—one could become the slave of circumstance, always anxious, never refreshed and at rest. Where is the workable middle ground? How can one be somewhat free of mind yet wholly responsible?

Hammarskjöld’s solution to the enigma draws from both medieval Christian mystics (Eckhart and Thomas à Kempis) and Hindu scripture (the Bhagavad Gita)—sources that were not, for him, distant in time or alien in content but daily companions. "Our work for peace," he writes, "should be pursued with the patience of one who has no anxiety about results, acting in the calm self-surrender of faith."  

One would scarcely have come to this, had he not brought it up. It puts in a surprising and largely unfamiliar light the challenges of leadership. Yet his question, "Mustn’t we learn to believe…" is hopeful. For Hammarskjöld, faith—in humanity, in laws of natural growth that tend however awkwardly toward the good, and in God—is not a passive comfort or solace. It is a light thrown on things, a steady keel beneath.

Patience in politics is a topic with long extensions.