Peace and Positivity

Midsummer. Thunderstorm threatening. I’m walking home on a narrow track after collecting a book from the local library. Story of a bloke driving a double-decker bus through Europe in the 1970s. My vintage. Not my story – not exactly – though I did a six-month circuit with a wife and young child in a Kombi that spluttered like an ageing lawnmower.

No doubt the book will take me back to those halcyon days. Meanwhile, there’s the present.

The path takes me through stands of karri and she-oak. I’m pondering recent interactions with fellow humans. And then I remember a comment in a podcast where Nate Hagens is interviewing a bloke called Craig Tindale. The conversation turns to the benefits of time in Nature. Craig uses a big word to describe the positive olfactory effects. ‘Phytoncides’ – chemicals released by plants. Contained in fresh air. Not only does a walk in the woods or the bush generally improve your mood and calm the mind, but studies show it tends to boost the immune system, lower blood pressure, and aid digestion.

In other words, Nature, of itself, nurtures.

I look up. Take a deep breath. A soft breeze brushes my face. High above, the karri leaves ripple and dapple as the sun breaks through. A shadowed trinity glide overhead. Ibis, I think.

Within moments, I’m back with my thoughts.

Since Bondi, keyboards have been busy. Everyone expresses an opinion. Commentators have a field day, each looking for a new angle. Social media goes berserk. Politicians react. Speeches are made. Laws are drafted.

Online, a conversation with friends. One extols the virtues of multiculturalism; another pours a jug of cold water on that notion. Other friends duck for cover. Can’t say I blame them. Australia – the lucky country? The welcoming country? No simple answers. Circumstances dictate. Each situation, every new scenario, riven with complexity. Yet emotions run high. Fear and anger demand decisive action. Governments freeze or fumble, divert or dissemble.

As I near home base, a brace of twenty-eights squawk and skim between the branches. These bloody birds have murdered my passionfruit vine. I remember the catapults we made as kids – ‘gings’ we called them. We pinged stones at the crows, no second thoughts. Now, am I capable of knocking off a pretty parrot? Perhaps.

Can humans live in peaceful coexistence, with each other and the natural world? The signs ain’t good. Yet Luke Kemp, author of Goliath’s Curse,makes a case that more recent archaeological evidence shows hunter-gatherers were basically collaborative. Equality was the default. If someone got too big for their bare feet, either they were ejected from the tribe or swiftly dispatched.

Life wasn’t exactly easy back then. But in some ways a lot simpler. Fast forward. I’m thinking how we trip over one another. Regularly, often cluelessly. Misunderstandings, grievances, defensiveness, judgements set in bedrock – you name it. Recently, I gave a talk about conflict and power dynamics within groups and communities. I referred to interviews I’d carried out with members of intentional communities – those set up with a purpose, a vision. A constant theme was the rippling effect if one member created ongoing problems – problems that appeared incapable of solution using forms of shared decision-making that involved mutual agreement or consent. In my talk, I referred to such a member as a ‘lemon’, the clear implication being they were a dead weight on the community. Questions came thick and fast. And a couple of participants took me to task for pejorative language. Fair enough. Another reminder that, while I might hold a belief a spade should be called a spade, the words used are important. Otherwise, a conversation quickly goes off the rails.

On the flipside, our quest for peace and love can enculturate us to make excuses for the behaviour of others, leaving us to marinate in a kind of treacle soup. It can be akin to ultra-positive thinking. Focus on the good, not the bad. See the best in other people and give them plenty of rope. But how much becomes too much?

Good question. It depends, it depends, it depends…

I head down an embankment to a sandy track. Flashes of blue, purple, yellow. Discombobulated wildflowers, forgetting Spring ended months ago.

I rein in my discombobulated mind. And digress.

Checking out Tindale, I come across his recent essay, The Discipline of Peace: Thoughts on moral and civic pacifism in the age of instant conflict.

Don’t let the weighty title deter you. This fascinating piece of writing casts an umbrella eye, post-Bondi, and offers a path in negotiating the treacherous shoals of heightened passion. A way forward, grounded in principle, informed by past civilisations and pundits.

Tindale does not argue ‘for silence or disengagement’. But rather ‘trying to understand how a peaceful society holds together when emotions run hot, certainty hardens, and everything becomes a loyalty test.’

Readers may find this resonates. It does with me. For unless we can understand that it’s possible to maintain coherence and a sense of unity while at the same time embracing the virtues of difference, we become trapped by our own perceived limitations. And that, I reckon, leaves us wide open to authoritarian regimes and surrendering the very freedoms we cherish.

Tindale journeys far back in time to illustrate his points. Compared with most of human history, ‘where the scope of moral concern largely coincided with the scope of physical agency’, modern society, primarily due to advances in communication, has a wide lens into global events, often in real-time. But unlike the past, when we could engage directly with what was in front of us, any interventions these days are far more limited. Put another way, we are embedded in local soil, watching and listening, while the world ‘out there’ erupts and splinters. No longer do we have effective agency – anything we might do as individuals seems fruitless. Personal power is laughable, in the bigger scheme of things. And, as Tindale says, ‘this creates psychological and civic friction’.

In this tumultuous climate ‘emotional intensity is mistaken for ethical validity, and visibility for understanding. Partial insights are treated as comprehensive judgments, and disagreement is framed as moral failure rather than interpretive difference’. We can see that writ large in the aftermath of the Bondi tragedy. It’s simpler and quicker to shout from the rooftops, postulate ‘solutions’, and screen out anything that does not fit one’s particular script – than to pause, consider, and to call forth a more creative and compelling narrative of shared values that might act as a launching pad for a safe and stable society; one in which differences are acknowledged and private and public discourse can flourish.

Am I dreaming, or is there potential for such a society?

Tindale, using the term ‘civic restraint’, argues the affirmative. Citing examples – classical Athens, and later the Dutch Republic, Switzerland and modern Japan, he concludes ‘peace persisted through limits, habits, and methods that prevented conviction from hardening into coercion. Restraint operated as a civic virtue cultivated through repetition. Stability emerged not from moral agreement but from disciplined coexistence.’

Flowing from that: ‘Moral persuasion within this framework is continuous and non-coercive. Conviction is expressed through argument and example rather than social punishment. Denunciation is rejected because it severs the relational fabric necessary for collective action. Civic life depends on the maintenance of functional relationships among individuals who do not share comprehensive moral agreement.’

Tindale finds the Anglo-Saxon contribution ‘is central to the Discipline of Peace because it treated social order as something maintained through restraint, procedure, and continuity rather than moral domination. Common law, trial by jury, and parliamentary governance did not aim to eliminate conflict, but to contain it within shared forms so that disagreement did not become violence.’

‘Freedom of speech and expression developed within this framework not as unrestricted assertion, but as protected practices bounded by law and responsibility. None of these systems were perfect, and none eliminated injustice or abuse of power. Their significance lies elsewhere.’

‘They made it possible to argue, dissent, and reform without tearing society apart. By institutionalising limits on power and normalising disagreement within durable legal structures, they created the conditions for the Enlightenment. Reason and inquiry flourished not because conflict disappeared, but because it was disciplined rather than unleashed.’

I have quoted at length from Tindale’s essay. To do otherwise, would short-change his assessment. As it is, I recommend readers absorb the full essay and then, if suitably motivated, tackle his online conversation with Nate Hagens in The Great Simplification, as that discussion shows another aspect of the man’s erudition.

While at it, Noel Pearson’s article in the Weekend Oz is worth every word. He focuses upon the ‘gift of multicultural migration’ which he says, along with ancient indigenous heritage and British institutions, are the three stories of what we call Australia.

But multiculturalism, in some quarters, gets a bad rap. Witness the disagreement between a couple of my old friends, mentioned earlier. Pearson makes what I think is a very important observation. Drawing from the writing of Nobel laureate Amartya Sen, ‘identity fundamentalism’, says Pearson, is at the core of the problem. ‘The idea that a single element of one’s identity – whether culture, religion or sexuality – is the only layer of importance’. Such a belief engenders what Sen called ‘plural monoculturalism’, where enclaves of monoculture have no attachment to national unity.

We can see this played out in parts of Australia, not to mention other countries.

And we need to change our focus and our language, in Pearson’s view. Rather than ‘unity in diversity’ the emphasis should be reversed. ‘Diversity in unity’. For without the unity, fragmentation is inevitable. To me, this ties in with Tindale’s thinking.

By now, you may have gathered I have arrived home from my sortie to the library. The world’s problems are far from solved but it feels as though a fresh breeze has blown through the house. Ideas do that for me. Thoughtful and thought-provoking ideas. Ideas that percolate and settle. Ideas that can do their silent work, if given a chance. Ideas that can induce both peace and positivity, while nudging you out of your comfort zone.

But ideas alone are mere froth without the bubble. Action – ‘right action’, as the Buddhists would say – is an integral part of the equation. For me, old fart that I am, there’s an implicit summons to participate. To participate as best I can, locally and beyond. Maybe there is scope for hope. Maybe a growing recognition that, beneath our fears and dreams and daily dramas, lies a moral imperative. As has been said before: ‘If not now, when?’ To which might be added: ‘If not me, who?’

Credit Unsplash with Sami Matias Breilin

By Bruce Menzies. Based in Fremantle, most of the time, Bruce Menzies is the author of three novels, a family history, and a recent memoir. Details at ‪BruceJamesMenzies.com If you’d like to read more of Bruce Menzies’ work on Fremantle Shipping News or listen to a fascinating podcast interview with Bruce, look here.

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