At a press conference prior to the Second Iraq War, Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld spoke about three types of information present in any situation. There are, he said, the known knowns, the known unknowns (what we know we don’t know), and the unknown unknowns. These latter, according to Rumsfeld, were “the difficult ones” because these were facts you didn’t know even existed. It was such ignorance that had the greatest potential for disaster.

Afterwards, people from various fields said that Rumsfeld’s principle was an important one. If we are about to make a decision or take action but know we are lacking some important information, we will be more careful or delay until that is resolved. But if we are unaware that we are lacking information, unaware that there are “unknown unknowns”, then our action could go badly awry when they unexpectedly appear.

I’ve been thinking about this Rumsfeld quote in light of the ongoing revelations of the Jeffrey Epstein files, as well as other pieces of history that I’ve encountered recently. They have made me realize that in the world of politics, power, business, and finance, there are a lot more unknown unknowns then I ever imagined.

This awareness has made me realize the fantasy I have often had about how our country and the world works. So many are at work behind the scenes making things happen, for good, and often, for ill. It has been a sad confirmation of the famous saying of comedian George Carlin about those who run the country: “It’s a big club, and you ain’t in it. You and I are not in the big club.”

Here is how I have come to see American history for the past three-quarters of a century. When World War 2 ended, the United States found itself at the top the global hill. Naturally, people liked that and then convinced themselves (or were convinced) that this is the way it should be. Our national leadership (political, military, business) took that view very seriously and saw maintaining that status as their most important task.

At a popular level, this was never discussed, of course, let alone voted on. Nonetheless, the country’s leaders believed that they had a mandate to maintain America’s #1 status indefinitely and had been given carte blanche to carry that out. No one asked what the cost of that would be or if it even made sense. Nor was it discussed what having such a goal would do to the country’s character and future.

After the Watergate scandal, the 1975 Senate select Church committee revealed what some of that cost was by conducting a broad investigation of abuses by the country’s intelligence and law enforcement agencies. It uncovered countless instances of foreign assassinations and covert manipulations and overthrows of foreign governments. Further, it discovered evidence of spying on thousands of American citizens by agencies which by law were supposed to have no domestic operations. And there was much, much more.

As a result of the committee’s findings, many policy changes were made but many of those were gradually rolled back, especially after 9/11. While there were expressions of public outrage, especially over the domestic spying, I suspect there was also embarrassment, not at the actions of these agencies themselves, but at their being revealed. If asked, many would probably have said, and might still say, “Agencies like the CIA should do what they have to do to protect us. We just don’t want to hear about it.”

“Protect us” is the key phrase in that statement, for that is how covert action, domestic spying, and countless foreign military operations have been justified. But protect us from what? Protect us from actual foreign threats or protect our status at the top of the global hill? What were “we” being protected from when we led or instigated the overthrow of governments in Iran (1952), Guatemala (1954), Dominican Republic (1961), Congo (1961), South Vietnam (1963), Chile (1973), Iraq (2003), Libya (2011), Venezuela (last month), and very possibly Iran again (at any moment)? Why do we have 150,000 troops on 750 bases in 80 foreign countries? What, really, are we protecting?

My point, though, is not to argue the merits of any of these actions or the policies behind them. Rather, my point is simply this: none of us were asked. And in most cases, “us” includes our elected representatives. But again, I’m not making a political point (and certainly not a partisan one) but an observation of how this level of our world works.

In our country, and many others as well, the biggest “macro” decisions are made out-of-sight by people who through various means have gotten themselves into positions that have the power to make such decisions. “The Deep State” has become a popular term recently and many imagine it to be some hidden evil cabal pulling the government’s strings. I think it’s more mundane than that (though no less evil). I think it’s just the way our system—political, military, economic—works.

The Epstein scandal has partly pulled back the curtain to reveal that system at work. This is the epitome of the Big Club that we don’t belong to. The sordidness of the revelations is truly awful. But as one commentator pointed out, this aspect of the upper classes has been around since at least the Marquis de Sade.

In this instance, however, the horror is distracting us from seeing the incredible international array of movers and shakers actually doing their moving and shaking: making deals, buying and selling influence, lying, embezzling, blackmailing, extorting, committing espionage, buying and selling secrets, and on and on. And all the while, having great fun doing it.

Jeffrey Epstein was the node of a network of power and influence. But he was not the only one and the network certainly has not gone away. As another commentator said, he has already been replaced and his work goes on, though perhaps (hopefully) without the sordidness. In any case, rest assured that the Big Club is still in full operation, with the curtain once again pulled closed.

Now this is supposed to be a blog on spirituality and religion. So, you may be wondering where in the world I am going with this. To begin, I’ll quote from William Shakespeare, first from his play As You Like It, where the character Jacques says:

“All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts….” (Act II, Scene V)

And from Macbeth, we hear the title character declare:

“Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing.” (Act V, Scene V)

Some would say these speeches reveal Shakespeare’s cynicism. I would say they express his deep understanding of biblical wisdom and Christian spirituality. For one of the most misunderstood, and avoided, themes of the Bible, and of the world’s spiritual traditions generally, is that of our individual nothingness. It challenges our egoic illusion that our purpose in life is to be something great and fulfill our destiny.

In the Christian tradition, Jesus, of course, is the epitome of this nothingness. Paul, perhaps quoting an early hymn, summarizes Jesus’ essence this way and as the model for his disciples.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, assuming human likeness. And being found in appearance as a human, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross.

Today, among both liberal and conservative Christians, it is often claimed that Jesus would have obviously taken one side or another on our various political and social disputes, and actively worked to right this or that social wrong. Yet there is no evidence in the gospels for his having done such things in his own lifetime.

Clearly Jesus had genuine compassion for the sick, the poor, the weak, and anyone in need. Further, he teaches his followers that compassion is our highest calling. Yet his role is always that of a servant, with a keen distrust of the temptations of power. In John’s version of the Feeding of the Five Thousand, the enthusiastic crowd wants to make Jesus their king, but instead he runs and hides. Later, Jesus tells Pilate, “My kingdom does not belong to this world.”

By either ancient or modern standards, Jesus was never “a big deal,” and that’s the way he wanted it. His inconsequential life demonstrated that, as Shakespeare says, we are all “merely players.” And that’s okay. From the least to the greatest, everyone has “their exits and their entrances.” We play our parts as best we can, and then leave the stage.

The members of the Big Club, on the other hand, try to convince us—and themselves—that there is something much more going on here, and they are the privileged few making “it” happen. Yet Shakespeare’s prophetic voice could not be more apt, for each of them is only “a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.”

On the one hand, we live in a distressing time. It may well get worse, even much worse, before it gets better. Adding to our distress is the realization that there is little, if anything, we can do about it. “You and I are not in the big club.”

But nearly all of this is being played out on our media pages and screens, and that is not where we live, that is not the stage for our life’s performance. We live in our homes and families, neighborhoods and communities, schools and churches, workplaces and clubs. This is where we have the opportunities to form friendships, learn and grow, celebrate and create, serve our neighbor in need, love and be loved, learn life’s possibilities and live to the fullest.

That’s all there really is, yet surely that’s enough. And in playing our part, we have the opportunity to discover within us what Paul called “the peace that surpasses all understanding,” which gives us the confidence and assurance that we have done all that we need to do.

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