On love, and other things that don't compute

Continuing our series on Wendell Berry's Mad Farmer Liberation Front

Hello, friends. Welcome back to my midwinter series on Wendell Berry’s poem, “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front.”

Each week this month, we’re considering one stanza of this poem, and what it might teach us in this moment. (Read last week’s discussion here, and read the poem in its entirety here.)

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This Valentine’s week, we return to Berry’s poem, which, fittingly, talks about love in the second stanza. It’s a bit more hopeful than the first stanza, thank goodness! Here it is:

So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

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And we’re back! Berry spent the first stanza diagnosing much of the problem with our world: the relentless mechanization of everything, from goods and services to our minds and hearts. He points out the danger of being so predictable, so regimented, that the people in power can foretell (and manipulate) our impulses and desires.

This second stanza is the beginning of a counterweight: a discussion of what, exactly, to do about it.

While Berry’s poem is not a sonnet, it makes a turn (sometimes called a volta) here, like a sonnet. Its theme, and mode of address, shifts from bleak corporate drone to cheerful, purposefully anarchic agrarian. (Some might even call him, well, mad.)

Berry begins tossing out slightly wild advice: Break the cycle, he urges. Disrupt the pattern. Not in the way the big-tech folks talk about disruption, where they break things (including, sometimes, the government) for the sake of it, and create needless suffering. But: disrupt the stale monotony of doing the same thing every day, living thoughtlessly in service to a system that does not have your best interests at heart.

Instead: be playful. Be creative. Every day, he says, do something generative, something illogical, something driven by wonder and enjoyment. Something even—or maybe always—driven by love.

Berry is a Christian, and so am I, but I think his call to “love the Lord” applies to anyone seeking connection with a divine force or forces in the world. I also think it pairs perfectly with the very next line: “Love the world.”

While we know there are other planets out there, and there may be other universes and realities, this planet and this moment are the one we’ve got. So, Berry urges, pay attention. Love this planet; love the particular moment you find yourself in. You might even extrapolate that to loving your neighbors – which isn’t a far stretch, considering Berry’s call to “love someone who does not deserve it.” (Isn’t that all of us, at certain times?)

There’s a certain logic here to Berry’s illogic: he’s nudging his readers to turn the capitalist-corporate paradigm on its head. Do something wacky, he’s saying—something as wild and ill-advised as working for nothing. Tear up the maps you’ve made of your brain and your consumption habits; take money and profit out of the center of your life and replace it with love. This love extends across all sorts of boundaries—as well it should, if it’s going to mean anything at all.

Berry’s approach to the government is likewise paradoxical: “Denounce the government,” he says, “and embrace the flag.”

That advice may ring particularly true right now, for those of us feeling shocked and disgusted by this new administration. I am certainly dismayed by the actions of folks in the government (and those deputized by the government), which will have real, damaging consequences for millions of people. But this healthy skepticism (along with love of country) is solid advice no matter who is in power. The idea, and the deeper identity, of a country is bigger than an individual leader and their lackeys. You can denounce an individual, a policy, even an entire set of leaders (and sometimes we should), but embracing the flag means embracing the idea of what America (or any country) can be.

Berry gets a bit mystical toward the end of the stanza, saying, “Give your approval to all you cannot understand.” I’m not inclined to take this as a blanket statement; there are a lot of things I don’t understand of which I do not approve. But in terms of the natural world, I’m totally with him.

I don’t understand the calls of birds, for example, or the physics of snow (at least, not entirely) or the beauty of unfurling flower petals in spring. I certainly can’t explain the reactions they provoke in me. But they are awe-inspiring, and generative, and they make up the world in which I live.

Human relationships, too, contain some element of mystery: I can’t fully understand love, but I live by it every day of my life. Love is not explainable by logic. It cannot be forced, although I believe it can be fostered, and it certainly can grow. It is also not magic, as our minister, Matt, noted in a recent sermon. It is not magic, but it matters—some would say more than anything.

I think Berry’s last line here, about praising ignorance, is a bit tongue-in-cheek, considering his low opinions of man-made systems. Perhaps, he is saying, the things that are hidden from us—like birdsong and earthworms and deep geologic layers—are better preserved without our attention. This is humbling to consider, but also makes me think about the kind of knowledge that is worth having: the kind based on curiosity and yes, on love.

As before, I’d love to hear your feedback and thoughts in the comments. Join me next week for part 3 – more nature talk, more countering the daily grind, even a bit of holy mischief. I’ll see you then.