Civic Love

Learning to Love Like God in a Divided Democracy

After years in law and public service, I often find myself haunted by a simple question: What can I do now? I no longer hold office. I don’t have the microphone. But I still feel responsible. I still care deeply about how we live together as communities and as a country. So I find myself circling back to something basic—something spiritual: What if our politics began with love?

Not sentimental love. Not polite tolerance. But a love fierce enough to resist contempt and wise enough to build structures that support peace.

In my faith tradition, many believe that life is a test to be worthy of God’s love. But I’ve come to see it differently. I believe our purpose isn’t to earn God’s love, but to learn to love like God: unconditionally, without fear, and without the need to win. Love is not merely a private virtue. It is a public necessity. It is the only force strong enough to hold diverse communities together. This kind of love can transform not only families and congregations, but also laws and legislatures. But love cannot survive, let alone thrive, in systems that reward power over empathy and tribal loyalty over shared humanity. If we want peace, we must build structures that support it.

Our democratic systems are failing because we have chosen to structure them in ways that reward division. The current rules of the political game tell us to view the other side as enemies, not as beloved neighbors. Compromise is seen as betrayal. Courage is punished, and power is hoarded. These rule structures shape behavior away from love—even among well-meaning people. We cannot change the human condition, but we can change the rules that guide it.

George Washington foresaw this danger. In his farewell address, he warned of political factions that would one day sharpen into “a frightful despotism” that empowered unprincipled men to subvert the people. He didn’t call for unity through uniformity. He called for unity despite difference—through restraint, humility, and shared purpose.

I saw what happens when our norms encourage partisanship over principle. In my time as a legislator, it became clear that the rules inside the legislature were not designed to foster collaboration, but to enforce conformity. Bills weren’t evaluated on merit, but on whether they served the majority caucus. Loyalty to party was the price of inclusion. Good ideas died quietly because they didn’t have the right sponsor. And many of us—on both sides—lost sight of the people we were there to serve.

But there are better ways. Nebraska’s unicameral legislature offers one such example. There, members are elected without party labels on the ballot. Leadership is chosen by secret ballot, not partisan caucus. Committee chairs are selected based on trust and respect, not ideological alignment. These structural choices foster more independent thought, more genuine relationships, and more cross-aisle cooperation. It’s not perfect—no system is—but it proves that different rules can create different results.

So what can we do? First, we can reframe our political engagement as a form of love. Voting is not just a right—it’s an act of care. Listening well to people we disagree with is a spiritual discipline. Supporting reforms like ranked-choice voting or open primaries isn’t just smart policy—it’s a way of creating space for love to operate in public.

Second, we can require more of our leaders. We can support those who prize courage over compliance. We can reject those who manipulate fear and reward those who serve with humility. We can choose community over faction.

And third, we can begin where we are. Peace does not begin in the Capitol; it begins in conversations, congregations, neighborhoods. Political love starts with asking: Who am I refusing to understand? And: How might I serve the common good even when I don’t get my way?

If we want to heal our democracy, we must root our civic life in something deeper than winning. We must seek justice without contempt, accountability without vengeance, and change without hatred. That work begins not in strategy, but in spirit.

Love is the key to peace. But as I’ve learned, the structure of norms and rules determine whether that key can open any doors.

So yes, we need to love more. But we also need to love more wisely. That means building a political culture—and a set of rules—that reflects the kind of people we aspire to become.

That is the work ahead of us. And it is work worthy of our hope.

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This essay is part of our How To Think Politically series.

Rich Vial is a former Oregon state legislator, attorney, and community advocate who believes that civic life must be rooted in spiritual principle.

Art by André Derain.