Spiritual Common Sense

Of all the hundreds of hours of television I have watched this week and of all the comments made by the seemingly endless number of pundits, one comment stays on my mind. 

It came from Martin Luther King III as he was being interviewed on CNN last weekend.  He was asked to talk about the protests that have followed the killing of George Floyd in the context of his father’s work. 

“I thought we were passed this,” he said. 

My response was visceral. His comment resurrected a flood of memories.

One of the earliest memories was a classmate who brought a sock to show-and-tell in the sixth grade saying it had belonged to a black man who had been lynched near our small western town a few years before.  

I remembered Selma and Montgomery.

I remembered George Wallace.

I remembered Bob Moses, a man of towering integrity who was known in the civil rights movement as the first to walk into danger and the last to walk away.

I remembereded being on the Mall listening to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

I remembered being on the Capitol steps watching the City burn the day after he was killed.

I remembered being on an elevator in the Capitol with the senior Senator from South Carolina who – after hearing conversations reflecting shock and sadness at Dr. King’s death – waited for the elevator to clear and said, “It’s about time someone killed that son-of-a-bitch.” 

I remembered being on Bobby Kennedy’s campaign staff and his fight for social justice.

I remembered being in the Senate gallery, watching as the Senate passed the Civil Rights Act of l964 after a dramatic 75-day filibuster dramatically broken when Senator Clair Engle, a Republican from California, too sick to speak, signaled his affirmative vote by pointing to his eye.

I remembered my surprise in light of this history when an African-American was elected to the highest office in the land.

Collectively, my memories told me we had come a long way.  So, forgive me if I too thought we were passed all this.

But as I ruminated on the words from Dr. King’s oldest son, I found a deeper meaning and a greater challenge.

Start with the obvious. It’s hard to watch the death of George Floyd. It was a crime against humanity so clear and vicious you can’t help wanting to protest.

But is what we are now seeing the beginning of the end or the end of the beginning?

“Our reliance is in the love of liberty which God has planted in us,” President Lincoln said.  “Our defense is in the spirit which primed liberty as the heritage of all men, in all lands everywhere.  Destroy this spirit and you have planted the seeds of despotism at your door.”

Lincoln’s words are a reminder that liberty is not just an idea, and abstract principle.  Liberty is power – specifically the power to act.

Consider again the words of Martin Luther King III in this context.  Is it enough to protest?  Shouldn’t we be passed that place?

When will we accept our responsibility for the world we see?  When will we accept ownership?  Most important, now and always, what are we going to do about it?

Apathy is the enemy.  The sad truth is that the actions of this Administration so objectionable to so many would not have happened if many of the people – particularly the young – who are now marching had taken the time to vote in 2016. 

Until the energy we see on the streets is dedicated to mobilizing, registering, and getting out the vote, nothing will change.  If we truly want justice, if we want America to live up to her promise, we must make it happen. 

We must be the change we seek.  Ultimately, America is and will always be whatever we are.

(Viktor Frankl was the author of 39 books, including Man’s Search for Meaning.  In l985, he sat down with me for a rare interview.  Long lost, this interview has been found and is printed here along with a paper about the end of life written by Frankl as he approached the end of his life.  A excerpt from this new book, published by Amazon, is reprinted below.)

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Once in a quiet moment Viktor told me how he found his path, how he came to be in the concentration camps, and the value of that “abyss experience.”

“When the Nazis came to power,” he said, “I was the head of the neurological department of a Jewish hospital in Vienna.  Anti-Semitism was increasing daily and my family and I could see what was coming.  Like many people, we began preparing to get out.  I applied for a visa to come to America where I could continue my work.

“At the eleventh hour as the Nazis were closing in, the U.S. Consulate informed me a visa had been granted for me to emigrate to the United States.  This was the moment I had anticipated for several years and I rushed down to the consulate with great excitement.  My enthusiasm fled when I realized the visa was only valid for one.  I was confronted by the fact that if I escaped to America, I would have to leave my parents behind.”

In despair Viktor left the embassy and walked in a daze to a park nearby.   Covering the yellow Star of David he was compelled to wear on his chest, he sat on the park bench in agony wondering what to do.

“On one hand,” he said, “was safety, the opportunity to work, and nurture my ‘brain child’ — logotherapy.  On the other hand, there was the responsibility to take care of my parents by staying with them in Vienna and, rather than leaving them to their fate, share it with them.”

What would his parents do if he left, he thought.  What could he do if he stayed?  Would it make any difference to them or would all be lost?

“At best, if I stayed with my family, I would have the opportunity to be with them and protect them from being deported but who knew for how long before the Gestapo came for us all,” Viktor said.  “If I stayed, my work and theories would perish with me.”

Viktor said he sat there, meditating and praying, for more than an hour.  Finally, he realized he could not resolve the matter and got up to go home.  As he left, he thought that if there ever was a time that a man could use a sign from God, this would be such a time.  The issue was beyond human resolution.

Almost immediately upon entering the apartment he shared with his family, Frankl noticed a stone, a piece of marble, on the mantle over the fireplace.  He called his father and asked him, “What is this and why is it here?”

“Oh, Viktor,” his father said with some excitement.  “I forgot to tell you.  I picked it up this morning on the site where the largest synagogue in Vienna stood before the Nazis tore it down.”

“And why did you bring it home?” Viktor asked. 

“‘Because I noticed that it is part of the two tablets whereon the Ten Commandments are engraved – you remember, above the altar?’ my father said.  In fact, one could see, on the piece of marble, one single Hebrew letter engraved and gilded.  ‘Even more,’ my father said, ‘I can tell to which of the Ten Commandments this letter refers because it serves the abbreviation for only one.’” 

“I looked at it and had my answer,” Viktor said.  “It was the commandment that says, ‘Honor thy father and thy mother.’  At that moment, my decision was clear.  I gave up my visa and stayed in Austria.  A few months later, the Gestapo closed the hospital.  My whole family was arrested and taken to the concentration camps.   My mother died in the gas chamber of Auschwitz.  My brother died in a coal mine near Auschwitz.  My father, weakened from starvation, finally succumbed to pneumonia.” 

The only satisfaction in this was that Viktor was able to visit his father in his barracks and be with him in his final hours.  As a physician, he could not help but notice the terminal lung edema setting in.  He saw his father in pain.  He heard his struggle for breath and knew when it was time to use the single ampoule of morphine he had smuggled into the camp. 

Viktor waited and watched until the morphine worked.  When it showed relief he asked his father if there was anything more he could do for him.  They talked for a moment until his father fell peacefully into the sleep Viktor knew would be followed by death. 

As he left, Viktor said he knew he would never see his father again, but rather than sadness, he found himself experiencing happiness to a degree he had never known before.  There in the concentration camps, the most miserable of experiences, Viktor found his greatest joy.  He had honored his father.  He had been there for him and stayed with him to the last and as a result had been able to ease his father’s pain.

At the same time, in ways he could not have anticipated, the decision to enter the concentration camp advanced his career and established the credibility of his work.  For it was there that Frankl found the laboratory to test and prove his theories. 

Freud believed that if you subject the mass of humanity to deprivation, human differences would be minimized and man would be reduced to fundamental desires, animal instincts, and a single-minded pursuit of survival at all cost. 

“Freud was spared to get to know the concentration camps,” Viktor observed.  “But we who were there saw not the uniformity he predicted.  People became ever more different when confronted by such a tragic situation.  They unmasked their real selves – both the swine and the saint.

“In truth, I found it was the orientation toward a meaning to fulfill in the future – after liberation – that more than any other factor gave people the greatest chance to survive even this abyss experience.  It is evidence of what I have come to call the self-transcendent quality of a human being – that is, a truly human being is never primarily or basically concerned with himself or herself, or anything within himself or herself; but rather is reaching out of themselves, into the world, toward a meaning to fulfill or another human being to love.”

This is hard.

We are being asked to do the things we have never done before.

Don’t touch.

Stay away from family members.

Avoid hospitals or nursing homes – no matter how sick or lonely your loved ones are.

Don’t visit friends.

Stay home.

Don’t work.

Avoid strangers. 

These things are difficult because these things do not come naturally to us.  They are contrary to human nature. 

It’s like the world has been turned upside down.  How do we make sense of it?

I’m not sure we can; but if there is an answer other than what history will provide it probably comes in an observation made by my friend, Tim Love.

Tim is the former Vice Chairman of Omnicom Group, a leading global advertising and marketing company.  He retired in 2013 as CEO of the Asia Pacific, India, Middle East and Africa regions.  These positions gave him a rare worldview.

When facing a difficult problem, Tim has always advised me to – “Think like the sun.”  It takes a long lens to see beyond the moment.

If you look at what’s happened that way, you can’t help wondering why the virus arrived when it did.  You can’t help wondering why it arrived the way it did and why we have responded the way we have.

Is it an accident that it comes at a time when the world is becoming increasingly polarized? 

Is it an accident that it comes when our country is so divided?

Is it an accident that it comes at a time when our political system seems so dysfunctional? 

Is it an accident it comes when the media has been so discredited half the population doesn’t know who to believe?

Is it an accident that it comes when confidence in our institutions has been eroded and the fundamental role of government is in question?

The most obvious lesson is how small the world really is.  In four months, the Coronavirus has infected nearly every nation in the world. 

The virus doesn’t see the lines we have drawn on the map.  It doesn’t care about our racial distinctions or religious divisions.  All humanity is at equal risk.

The second great lesson is a reminder of how interdependent we are.  The level of our attachment and degree of our mutual dependence is more evident every day.

Third, what we are being asked to do is to help ourselves by helping others.  This is the “enlightened self-interest” Alexander de Tocqueville first noted as so essential to democracy.   It is part of our social compact.

The social compact is the fabric that binds us.  We see it most clearly on the highways.  The only way we can get from here to there safely is if everyone stays in their lanes.  Sure there is the occasional self-centered cretin who blows through traffic at great speed or drives on the shoulder to avoid a traffic jam, but almost unconsciously most people consider others, obey speed limits and follow the rules. 

So it is now.  We stay away from people not for ourselves but because of our concern for others.  The further apart we are, the more we realize how important it is to be together.

“No Man Is An Island,” John Donne said.  COVID-19 is a hard way to learn that lesson.

Donne’s poem expressed his belief that human beings do badly when isolated from others and need to be part of a community in order to thrive.  His poem was written in 1624, but it could not be more relevant to this moment.  It reads as follows:

No man is an island entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less,
As well as if a promontory were,
As well as any manor of thy friend’s,
Or of thine own were.

Any man’s death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.

When I was a boy of nine or ten, I was walking through the woods with my Father and came upon a large fallen tree.  For some reason, I noticed the rings revealed where the tree had been cut. 

When I asked about it, my father gave me the conventional answer, explaining how the rings of the tree reflected the tree’s age.  Then he expanded that observation in a way I have never been able to forget.  “If you look closely,” he said, “it can also tell you something of the tree’s history.”

Dad pointed to a narrow band near the tree’s center.  “That tells you this was a tough year for this tree.  If you count back the rings and determine the date you will probably find that it was a dry year or that the tree faced some other challenge to its growth.  Conversely, the broad band tells you the tree had a year of expansive growth.”

“But what is most important is the pattern,” he said.  “Broad bands almost invariably follow narrow bands.  That’s because in the dry years and difficult periods the tree had to put its roots down deeper in order to survive.” 

There is no escaping the fact that we are currently facing difficult times.  Today is nothing like yesterday.   A virus we had never heard of a few weeks ago has closed schools, shut down travel, devastated our economy and left us shuttered in our own homes. 

The leaders of some states and major cities have established curfews.  In some states the National Guard has been called out to quarantine significant parts of cities.  

We are being challenged and pushed to the limit.  We can’t help wondering if life as we knew it will ever be the same.

As always, the question is – What do you do about it?  How do we respond?

How do we respond as a nation?  How does our government respond?  More important, how do we respond as families and individuals?

Our response has to begin by understanding the challenge.  Anyone who has been in the military will tell you that you don’t go into battle blind.  We have to understand what we are up against. 

The best estimate at the moment is that 40 to 70 percent of our population will be infected.  Fortunately, most of these people will recover on their own – but many will not.  Those who do not, those who become seriously ill, will severely tax our health care system and our ability to care for them.

And it is not going away soon.  We’re talking months – not days or weeks.  

So what do we do?

First of all, know we will get through this and come out the other side better than we were. 

The last time we faced a challenge of this size was World War II.  It is no accident that we call those who faced that challenge our “greatest generation.”  It is no accident we emerged from that experience as strong as we have ever been.

This battle will require the same degree of shared sacrifice and purpose.  Each of us must take responsibility and do our part. 

The easiest way not to get this virus is to act as if you already have it.  That’s also the easiest way to keep it from spreading.

This means changing fundamental elements of our existence – how we work, shop, play, and entertain ourselves. 

But we are not being asked to do anything we cannot do.  History shows we are always at our best when things are the worst.

Adversity introduces us to our true selves.  We gain courage with every fear we face, strength with every challenge we meet, and confidence with every obstacle we overcome.

Like the tree, we must reach down deep and draw on the best part of ourselves.  That includes not only taking care of ourselves, but also being mindful of those who can not.

The hidden message this virus carries is how close and interdependent we are.  We need each other.  We depend on each other.  There is no way to separate what happens to one from what happens to another. 

Community comes when we recognize the opportunity for service this provides.   Many of our infirm and elderly were isolated before this virus.  They are even more isolated now.  They will be in even greater need as the days and months progress. 

Something as simple as a periodic phone can make a big difference.  A bag of groceries dropped at the doorstop or perhaps an extra serving of a meal we prepared for our families can help keep people alive. 

Is there a prescription that needs to be filled?  Does a neighbor just need to talk?  The longer this crisis continues, the more we will need to reach out to each other any way we safely can.

Dealing with this virus will not be easy, but in a perverse way it provides an unprecedented opportunity to tap into our humanity and reveal the best parts of ourselves.  The greater the challenge, the stiffer the resistance, and more hopeless the situation may seem, the more hopeful the resolution and miraculous the outcome will be.

Henry Ford probably said it best.  “When everything seems to be going against you,” Ford said, “remember that an airplane takes off against the wind, not with it.”

Albrecht Durer, generally regarded as the greatest artist of the German Renaissance, was one of l8 children born to a goldsmith in a tiny village near Nuremberg.  As a boy, Durer worked at every job he could find to help put food on the table, while dreaming of becoming an artist.

Finally, his dreams began to come true when he was sent to work for a skilled artisan in Nuremberg.  There he met and became friends with another man who shared the same dream.  The two men moved in together, promising to support each other until they became established.

When this proved more difficult than they anticipated, Durer’s friend offered to postpone his career and find work to provide food and shelter until Durer could generate enough income from the sale of his paintings and engravings to support them both.  And so, while Durer continued refining his talents, his friend put aside his own aspirations and sought whatever work he could find. 

Durer’s friend scrubbed floors, washed dishes, and served in a nearby restaurant until the day came when Durer brought home enough money from the sale of a wood carving to support them both for some time.  Only then did Durer’s friend return to his art, but by this time his hands had lost their touch and his fingers could hardly hold a paintbrush.

Not long thereafter, Durer returned to the apartment the two men shared to find his friend kneeling in prayer, his hands folded reverently.  Struck by the beauty of his friends hands, scarred and marked as they were by his labor of love, Durer was inspired to create what many consider his masterpiece – The Praying Hands – a tribute to his friend’s sacrifice.

In some way and in similar fashion, each of us has benefited from the sacrifices others have made on our behalf.  Each of us is indebted to others.  Each of us is called to respond.  

“Whatever there is of God and goodness in the universe, it must work itself out and express itself through us,” Einstein said.  “We cannot stand aside and let God do it.”

We are God’s hands.  Each of us holds the answer to someone’s prayers.