Perhaps I have been asking the wrong question.
Ben Azzi used to say: “Despise no man and consider nothing impossible for there is no man who does not have his hour and there is nothing that does not have its place” (Aboth IV.3).
Despise no person regardless of socio-economic status, gender, gender orientation, race, creed, color, or disability. Ben Azzi challenges me (us) to respect others. He counsels that this respect be extended regardless of how frivolous their words or actions in a given moment; that each of us have our times of difficulties and trials. In brief, he challenges us to be sensitive to others and act in compassion. The compassionate response requires us to listen, understand, and respond with empathy.
When I was a child, I possessed an awareness of the mystery of life that filled me with wonder. Sensitivity to the world led to endless curiosity and questions, a willingness and openness to explore. There was an innocence of trust and faith in others and God. Psychological studies have established that between infancy and age five a child has a tremendous capacity for empathy.
The innocence of childhood is lost with the awareness of social complexities. Doubts and question arise concerning our place and role in society as we begin to shape our identity. The tensions within the natural world, the “peaceable kingdom” of nature with its capacity for violence, become more apparent. The perception of disorder lessens our sense of security and we begin to contend with the riddle of evil. Faith gives way to doubt. Through this process, we begin to construct a shell around ourselves for self-protection. Selfishness (I, me, mine), material acquisitions, and judgement replace sensitivity and empathy.
One evening after dinner, I asked my father under what circumstances was it right to steal. He responded that he would steal only if he was unable to provide for his family. Only then, if his family were starving, would stealing be justified. A person was (and is) responsible for his conduct regardless of his or her age. Family, God, and Country was how he prioritized his responsibilities. This is not to say that God came in second. God was central in the scheme. Everything revolved around his faith.
The basis of faith is more than a childish sense of awe, wonder, and fear, though these are the foundation for religion. The question, as framed by Abraham Joshua Heschel, is “what to do with the feeling for the mystery of living, what to do with awe, wonder, or fear. Thinking about God begins when we do not know any more how to wonder, how to fear, how to be in awe. For wonder is not a state of esthetic enjoyment. Endless wonder is endless tension, a situation in which we are shocked at the inadequacy of our awe, at the weakness of our shock, as well as the state of being asked the ultimate question.”
I find myself perplexed by the gathering darkness shrouding contemporary society. The greed, selfishness, the brokenness of human relationships, and the distorted, fragmented human relationship to the natural world. The darkness speaks to the necessity of confronting evil. But is evil the problem?
The problem is not so much evil itself, according to the Protestant theologian Reinhold Niebuhr, but with the confusion of good and evil. Listen carefully to the Trumpian attacks on immigration, education, medical research, among other issues, and you hear evil disguised as good. There is a confounding of values under the guise of justice rooted in the Judeo-Christian tradition. The deception idealizes and rationalizes a standard of pride, arrogance and dishonesty in politico-morality terms that obscures the human spirit’s capacity for compassion and empathy, to be lifted beyond self-love to ask “what to do with the mystery of living.”
Yet in my thoughts and actions⸺ my judgements, I am always contending with a mixture of motive for the other and self-interest. The reality of human nature is the tension between a good or pure intention and the evil inclination. Neither the Mosaic Law nor the Gospels, or for that matter rational humanistic philosophy restrain evil. Instead, they challenge us to be aware and make the effort to separate the good from evil and eliminate evil from the good.
To ask the question what to do and then to act for the good, with the awareness of that as imperfect as my (our) motives may be, and with no intention for reward or profit, is the essence of the moral act. Those actions refine the will. “The good motive comes into being while doing the good,” Heschel writes.
To ask the question what to do is to live the life of faith in openness to one another with compassion and empathy, and experience the mystery of life.
To ask the question what to do is the beginning of bringing healing to a broken world.
Note to Readers
New blogs will be posted on Fridays rather than a few times a week. I appreciate the fact that you take of your time to read these columns. Thank you.
Illustration
Title: Landscape near Painesville
Artist: Allen Smith (American 1810-1891)
Source: Cleveland Museum, Cleveland Ohion
Charles van Heck's Woodhull Journal 
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