“It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.” Frederick Douglass
I may not be broken, but I’ve been exceptionally lucky. In my morning meditation, I review the times in my life when I felt truly welcome. The list is long: at birth, first breath, mother’s breast; friends next door, in high school, and in college; my future wife meeting me in LA when I returned from Vietnam; my in-laws, my own family (in spite of political and religious differences); work environments in jails, schools, and hospitals; corporate clients and nonprofit leaders; neighborhoods in Kalamazoo, Phoenix, Basking Ridge, Toronto, and Elk Rapids. Ohh, there were ruptures along the way, but nothing that couldn’t be repaired. Yes, I’ve been lucky, AND I need to own the enormous privilege of being welcomed my whole life.
In my reading, I learn about ruptures that have devastated individual lives, families, and communities. I read about the ruptures that occurred between nations over the course of history. I see ruptures dramatically exposed in the constant news stream I have a hard time avoiding. And yet, there is often repair when people notice the suffering, open their hearts, and welcome others into their lives. For me, the door to repair is opened by the gratitude we experience for the meaningful connections we have made and the beloved communities in which we have lived, learned, and worked.
The random acts of violence and vitriol erupting around the world now are rupturing relationships that have been built over the last several decades. Some of those relationships looked more like sustainable exploitation than mutually beneficial partnerships, but there was relative peace during that period of time compared to the 35 million people who died in World War I and the 70 million people who died in World War II.
In the last few weeks, I came across three different literary gifts—an ancient poem, some very old prose, and a current podcast—that made me wonder how random ruptures really are AND how we can repair them.
The poem, The Dispute Between a Man and His Soul, was written about 4,000 years ago in ancient Egypt. It takes the form of a philosophical dialogue between a man and his soul about the meaning of existence. Here it is:
To whom shall I speak today?
Brothers are unkind,
The friends of today do not love.
To whom shall I speak today?
Hearts are greedy,
Everyone steals from his neighbor.
To whom shall I speak today?
Kindness has perished,
and mercy has disappeared.
To whom shall I speak today?
One is content with evil,
Goodness is cast to the ground everywhere.
To whom shall I speak today?
He who should enrage men by his crimes–
He makes everyone laugh at his evildoing.
To whom shall I speak today?
The past is not remembered,
Now one does not help him who helped.
To whom shall I speak today?
Brothers have become bad;
one brings only strangers into the middle of the heart.
To whom shall I speak today?
Faces are blank,
Everyone turns his face from his brothers.
To whom shall I speak today?
Hearts are greedy,
No man’s heart can be relied on.
To whom shall I speak today?
None are righteous.
The land is left to evildoers.
To whom shall I speak today?
One lacks an intimate,
One resorts to an unknown to make known to.
To whom shall I speak today?
There is no one in peace,
And the one I walked with is gone.
To whom shall I speak today?
I am burdened with grief
For lack of an intimate.
To whom shall I speak today?
wrong roams the earth,
And there is no end to it.
If that poem doesn’t anchor the historical antecedents for existential rupture, I don’t know what does. Sadly, there is no hint of repair in that poem.
Then, I saw a clip from the Stephen Colbert show in which Ian McKellen recites from the play Sir Thomas More by Shakespeare. I won’t quote the entire poem here, but here are a few lines.
Imagine that you see the wretched strangers,
Their babies at their backs with their poor luggage,
Plodding to the ports and coasts for transportation,
And that you sit as kings in your desires,
Kill them, cut their throats, possess their houses,
And lead the majesty of law in line
To slip him like a hound. Say now the king
Why, you must needs be strangers: Would you be pleased
To find a nation of such barbarous temper,
That, breaking out in hideous violence,
Would not afford you an abode on earth,
Whet their detested knives against your throats,
Spurn you like dogs, and like as if that God
Owed not nor made not you, nor that the claimants
Were not all appropriate to your comforts,
But chartered unto them, what would you think
To be thus used? this is the strangers case;
And this your mountainish inhumanity
I would highly recommend that you watch the clip. Ian McKellen is brilliant. To me, the last two lines capture the root cause of societal ruptures: mountainish inhumanity to “strangers.”
Yes, the poem was written 4,000 years ago, and the prose was written 400 years ago. And then I listened to a recent podcast (let’s say 4 days ago) in which Ezra Klein interviewed George Saunders, who wrote Lincoln in the Bardo and several books of short stories known for their dystopian themes, dark humor, and the absurdity of corporate culture. It was a powerful exchange between two brilliant minds. They raised several critical questions we might all want to consider “living in”:
- What are we willing to ignore to get what we want?
- What are we willing to give up to live within the system?
- Are we willing to bear witness?
- Is it complicity or desire that is driving this madness?
Klein and Saunders also landed on several critical points:
- Disruption hurts the poor more than anyone else.
- The primary illusion we have as humans is to say “I” and think it represents the totality of who we really are.
- The separate self is a delusion.
- Comfort is truth.
- Specificity squeezes out facile judgment.
4,000 years ago, an Egyptian sage implored us to have an honest debate with our souls. And, just to be clear, I believe our souls are more than neurons firing in the brain. 400 years ago, Shakespeare challenged us to take a hard look at how we relate to our families and to “strangers.” 4 days ago (or so), George Saunders challenged us to live in the difficult questions that are impacting the world at large.
The poem illuminates the random ruptures with our own soul. Shakespearean prose describes the ruptures with “strangers” as well as within our own families. The podcast reveals the ruptures that are occurring in society at large. The disturbing truth is that these ruptures have been described since humans started sharing perspectives, and they seem to be happening more regularly than randomly.
What are we not hearing? What are we refusing to reflect on? Why are we not asking more questions? How can we offer acts of kindness and generosity that lead to repair instead of rupture?
I wonder what it will take for us to find peace in our souls and love in our hearts, in our social circles, and in our society. Perhaps the people of Minneapolis can inspire us to take action in our own communities.
I keep coming back to noticing, opening, and welcoming—which conveniently forms the acronym NOW. We need to notice our own thoughts, feelings, and behaviors NOW. We need to notice what’s going on in the lives of our loved ones AND the strangers in our midst NOW. We need to notice what’s happening to our planet, to our institutions, and to our alliances NOW. We need to open our hands and hearts and minds to change. AND, we need to welcome new ideas, healthy conflict, and the “strangers” in our lives.
When my grandkids sleep over at our house, I love to greet them every morning with “Rise and Shine.” Maybe we should all start each day with that attitude. To be honest, the kids are not always terribly thrilled to be awakened by my booming voice. They do know, however, that I see them, that I’m open to their perspectives, and that I welcome them into my heart. AND, as Frederick Douglass wisely reminded us, “It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.” As lucky as I have been, watching their glowing souls welcome a new day is the best experience I have ever had. May their ruptures be few and their repairs happen quickly.
I’m hoping the random ruptures wreaking havoc in our lives will be reduced to manageable annoyances that can lead to meaningful repair. We can’t wait another 4,000 years to let the message sink in. Nor another 400 or 40. I’m hoping we will wake up NOW. May it be so.
