A Harsh And Dreadful Thing
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- Created on Sunday, 26 July 2009 01:00
- Written by Will Kemeza
There has been a recent slew of books about fatherhood. Or, more accurately, a recent slew of books which chronicle the transformation of their authors from laundry-denying, self-absorbed dudes to caring contemporary fathers.
These books are climbing bestseller lists, and staring out from bookstore windows. And I’ve been paying some attention, because – as you can tell from the dark circles under my eyes – I happen to be the father of an 11 month old.
I hesitate to recommend any of these books – I can save you plenty of time by summarizing the theme around which many of these books revolve. It goes something like this:
“On the day I was born, my father waited in the lounge outside the delivery room, smoked a celebratory cigar, and returned to work the next day. Times have changed.”
Nevertheless, this body of literature is not without occasional moments of lucid insight. In his book Home Game, Michael Lewis, with admirable candor, makes the following confession:
Lewis writes:
“The thing that most surprised me about fatherhood the first time around was how long it took before I felt about my child the way I was expected to feel. At first, I was able to generate tenderness and a bit of theoretical affection, but after that, for a good six weeks, the best I could manage was detached amusement. The worst was hatred. Here is the central mystery of fatherhood, or at any rate my experience of it. How does a man’s resentment of this …thing…that lands in his life and instantly disrupts every aspect of it for the apparent worse turn into love?”
He then ventures an answer to this question:
“The simple act of taking car of a living creature, even when you don’t want to, maybe especially when you don’t want to, is transformative…All the little things you must do for a creature to keep it alive cause you to love it”.
This, it seems to me, is actually a rather profound statement. And its implications go far beyond fatherhood. Here, I’d suggest that Michael Lewis is actually treading on theological ground.
In what sense, you ask?
Many of us tend to believe that one’s actions follow from one’s worldview. In this paradigm, which is often encouraged by dogmas both religious and political, belief – intellectual assent - is primary. Right thinking leads to right acting.
This sounds sensible enough. But it doesn’t hold up particularly well in the face of lived experience. As Michael Lewis is suggesting to us, you can’t force yourself to feel affection. If “thou shalt love”, the great commandment of the Judeo-Christian tradition, means to say that you have to feel constant affection for the universe and your neighbor, then it is absurd. The soul lacks the thermostat necessary for this kind of temperature control.
But I don’t think that this is what that commandment means. In fact, I would suggest that responsible religious thinkers have long come to the same conclusion as Lewis: that the way we see the world follows from the way we act. Not the other way around. Put into religious terms: faith is a matter of practice before it is a matter of dogma.
In his classic novel Brothers Karamazov, Dostoevsky tells the story of Father Zossima, the wise, self-effacing, good-humored orthodox monk.
In the story, people pour in from nearby cities, seeking Zossima’s spiritual direction. One day, a woman arrives at his cell, and eventually gets to talk with him. She has a big problem, she says. Slowly, over the course of many years, she has lost her faith and therefore her reason to live. Zossima must give her a reason to believe again, she says, or she will kill herself.
Talk about pressure.
But Zosima has a response: I think I can help, he says. Go home, and every day, do something concrete to love the people around you. And you will find, slowly but surely, that you won’t be able to help but believe.
Love actively, Zossima suggests, and the way you see the world will change.
So this might all sound okay to us as UU’s. After all, no one is likely to accuse us of placing too much emphasis on dogma, and too little on social action. We light this candle each week to remind ourselves of our mutual obligation to act for justice in the world, and we take our leave by reminding one another that we must all strengthen the fainthearted, support the weak, help the suffering, and honor all beings. We get it: do the right thing, and don’t sweat the belief part.
But Zossima isn’t finished with us. This woman seeking his advice seems skeptical. Maybe she’s one of us – a UU. She says, basically, “that’s it?” “Al I do is love the people around me?”
And to this Zossima responds with a line which has become famous: “Ah”, he says, “love in practice is a harsh and dreadful thing compared to love in dreams. It may very well kill you”
Why? Zossima seems to agree with Aristotle – that love might best be defined as “the active will to do what is good for another.”
Doing what is good for another can be really hard. Sometimes, it’s hard to know what would be good for someone or something else – as distinct from what would make us feel good.
And actually doing it is often no picnic: getting up at 2am (and 3:30, and 5) to feed a baby; bathing an elderly parent; stepping in to intervene in the course of a loved one’s addiction. This is love. And it hurts.
So why do it?
Because, as Michael Lewis (or any parent) can attest, if we act out of love – even when it wears us down, our hearts will be opened.
Because, as Father Zossima attests, if we love the people around us, we won’t be able to help but believe in a new way.
Because, in Mary Oliver’s words, we have choice:
“The gospel of/ light is the crossroads of – indolence or action.
Be ignited, or be gone”.