When I was a little kid, my parents took me on a trip from our home on Long Island to Washington, D.C. We went on tours of the Capital Building, the Treasury Building, probably a few other buildings, and the major monuments.
I suppose it was all meant to be a civics lesson. When we got to the Washington Monument, I wanted it to be an endurance test: I suggested that we walk up the 550-feet worth of stairs to the observation deck rather than take the elevator.
My parents, of course, said, “no” but, to my surprise, they agreed to walk down.
I don’t know if they were willing to make that sacrifice to teach me a lesson or if they just weren’t as smart as I thought they were, but when we got back down to the base, my legs told me in no uncertain terms that that was a really dumb idea.
Even dumber when you consider that we were only halfway through a day that we would spend walking to everywhere else.
I returned to the Washington Monument this past Friday, along with my Free DC friends and a coalition of several other groups, for the D.C. May Day rally and march.
As with other protest gatherings I’ve been to, the mood was one-part policy repudiation, two-parts festive derision. Joyful ridicule of a wannabe king is an important—and potent—act of resistance to tyranny.
Speaking of which, we’re fast approaching the 250th anniversary of the Second Continental Congress’ adoption of the Declaration of Independence, in which the then 13 united States of America told the King of England in no uncertain terms that they were done with him.
The Founding father’s repudiation of the King and his policies was followed by a bold experiment in representative democracy.
And as testimony to just how far that experiment has gone off the rails, this past week, current members of Congress were treated to a lecture on what it means to be stewards of a representative democracy by . . . The King of England!
Ironic, is it not?
Kings often play a central role in traditional Vedic wisdom literature, either as the hero of an epic or as the recipient of spiritual wisdom.
In Sanskrit, the word rāja—with a long ā—means “king” and the word ṛṣi means “sage.” Put together, they form the word rājarṣi: a combination of hero and sage or, as Plato might put it, a “philosopher king.” In Vedic literature, an ideal ruler one who is both a heroic warrior and a spiritually-enlightened sage.
Such an enlightened monarch’s rule is characterized by policies that reflect the highest quality of material nature: sattva, the quality of illumination.
Unlike the lower modes of material nature, passion (raja—with a short a) and darkness (tama), sattva is characterized by preservation, kindness, generosity, clarity, contentment, compassion, and knowledge.
Which means that policies enacted under the direction of a rājarṣi would be very different from the policies of both the wannabe king we directed our ridicule to on Friday. and the actual King to whom the Declaration of Independence was directed 250 years ago.
For example, the wannabe king’s immigration enforcement policy relies on broad, fear-based raids and detentions that cause collective harm and destabilizes families. Is it sattvic? Definitely not.
What might a sattvic immigration policy look like? Transparent enforcement that actually targeted dangerous criminals, recognized everyone’s right to due process, offered asylum to all who legitimately needed it, and went out of its way to protect families.
And as for the repeated injuries and usurpations of King George III, we can start with “Imposing taxes on us without our consent”— extraction without consent or regard for fairness is definitely not sattvic. Transparent taxation tied to the public welfare rather than to the King’s coffers is what sattvic governance calls for.
Unfortunately, no one currently living on planet Earth has all of the qualities of a rājarṣi and a few thousand years of human history are enough to convince any reasonable person that a return to monarchy would be ill-advised.
So I expect us to be in “No Kings” mode for quite some time to come. For now, we can think about what should rise from the ashes of the current administration’s inevitable demise (or the collapse of late-stage Capitalism, whichever comes first) in terms of sattva.
Here’s something you can try: pick a Trump administration policy that you find especially loathsome and consider what a more sattvic policy would look like. How would a rājarṣi approach the same social issue?
I’m looking forward to hearing what you come up with.
Wishing you all good fortune,
– Hari-k