Originally posted on LinkedIn on December 12
It’s not hard to understand why we feel so unsettled. The upcoming U.S. Presidential election is more likely to further divide the country than unite it. Totalitarian governments are determined to consolidate power no matter the human cost. The military conflicts that have ignited across the world are complex, and heels have been dug in on all sides.
In times like this it’s tempting to throw up our hands and to say “they”. “They” are being unreasonable. “They” are the aggressors and oppressors. “They” are responsible for the pain, grief and suffering. And sometimes, perhaps oftentimes, to a greater or lesser extent, they are.
However, lately I have been wondering about the extent to which deflecting to “them” conveniently excuses “me”. I may not be reshaping political landscapes, bearing arms, or repressing freedoms, but I still break the world around me:
Whenever I pursue my own agenda – the accretion of greater position, power, or pay – above any decision, choice or effort that increases the extent to which my work can lead to human flourishing, however measured.
Whenever I fail to honor promises I’ve made – to be a better listener, to not be argumentative for the sake of it, to make a genuine effort to understand an opposing view.
Whenever I let slip an opportunity – to ask how you’re doing, to be in the moment for a friend, my spouse, or my children, to acknowledge your contribution and thank you for putting in your best effort, to encourage you to try again, because you can do it.
Sometimes, these toxicities reinforce each other: pick any combination of the failings above, add a dash of resentment, a sprinkle of self-righteousness, or a pinch of lost self-control, and you’re familiar with the results: harsh insinuations, vengeful thinking, blame-shifting, mentally quitting, unkind words, destructive rumors.
Anger. Envy. Frustration. “They”.
How many of the imperfect us, living, breathing and working side-by-side in this way does it take to break the world? Did some failing of mine push you over the edge? What harm can we possibly do, just us resentful two? Do two make four, and four make eight, and so on, a geometric progression of world breakage? Yes, decorum, politesse and self-preservation may keep a lid on it – but a less broken world is not the same as an unbroken one.
What are we to do, we who have broken the world? Can any measure of human ingenuity, effort, or argument make it right?
Graham Greene writes in The Quiet American (1955): “Everything had gone right with me since he had died, but how I wished there existed someone to whom I could say I was sorry.” Greene keenly understood: a seeking heart knows it has broken the world, and longs for forgiveness.
J