Spiritual Common Sense

They called to tell me Rachel was dying a few days ago.  It came as no surprise.  She has been battling cancer for years.

My last communication with her was by email 3 months ago and that was brief.  She said she was having trouble hitting the keys and preferred to talk.

She said she would call me.  She never did.  My calls to her went unanswered.

Still, the news she was in hospice and down to a few days hit me hard and it’s hard to explain why.  When I think back, we only saw each other half a dozen times.  We talked by phone infrequently – maybe once a year.  Yet, from the moment I met her, I felt a connection I could not explain.

The first time we met, she couldn’t understand why I had come to see her, why I wanted to interview her, or what she had to say that would be of interest to the world.  Sure, she had a large family and, yes, 19 of her 21 kids where adopted, but so what.

One of her kids, Benjamin, the boy without a brain was something of a medical marvel (See: Lessons from A Boy Without A Brain, posted 7/16/13) but that was of no significance to her.  Ben and the others society saw as disadvantaged were her children – nothing more, nothing less.  To her mind, her family was not unlike every other family in the neighborhood.

Despite her humility, Rachel was anything but ordinary.  She was the equal of any man or woman I have meant and I say this as one who has been privileged to meet some of the most remarkable people of our time.

The first thing I noticed about her when we met was her joy and boundless compassion.  The second thing I noticed was that she had a rare ability to speak truth.

I asked her what I thought were simple questions, obvious questions, the same questions I would ask anyone else, and received unexpectedly profound answers, answers that seem to come to her fully formed without thought or effort (See:  Forget Yourself, posted 6/23/2012).

So when she called one morning a dozen years or so ago to say she had found the answer, the reason we felt so close, I listened expecting her to say something worth remembering.  I wasn’t disappointed.

She said she was reading and meditating that morning when a thought came to her:  There is no distance between souls.

“That’s it,” she said.”

And so it is.

Rachel was right.  There is no distance between souls.  Never has been.  Never will be.

Distilled to its essence, the common denominator of all the moral precepts laid down by the founders of all the great religions is selflessness.  Collectively and continually, they remind us we cannot see God until we take our eyes away from the mirror – turning away from ourselves, from our self-centered ambitions and pursuit of power and possessions.

The prison population provides the most dramatic example of the damage we do in pursing our parochial personal interests.  Most of those who are incarcerated have taken selfishness and self-centered behavior to its logical conclusion.  At their core, these people are the “takers” of the world – the takers of life, liberty, security and property.

After thirty years of working with prison populations, Mimi Silbert, founder of Delancy Street, confirms this observation and takes it a step further.  She notes most of the people in prison have always been on the receiving end.

“They are either receivers of punishment and hate and aggression, or they are the receivers of welfare, the receivers of therapy,” she says, “but they are never the doers.  They are never the givers.”

Conversely, the simplest ethical approach to life is to give as much as possible and take as little as necessary.  In the words of Israel Zangwill, “Selfishness is the only real atheism; unselfishness, the only real religion.”

The more we receive without giving, the less we think of ourselves and the more dependent we become.  The givers of the world have reversed this spiral. The more they give, the more they want to give, the more they can give and the better they feel about themselves.  They have learned the most profoundly selfish thing we can do is to be selfless.

Here we go again.

On Monday, another man, said to be insane but armed to the teeth, pulled the trigger on a tragedy that ended the lives of a dozen innocent people, shattered the lives of their families, and shut down Washington for much of the day.

Nearly a week later, all we really know about the shooter at the Navy Yard is that he was a lot like many others who took the same path.

We know he was probably mentally unbalanced.

We know he shouldn’t have been given a security clearance.

We know he shouldn’t have been allowed to buy the weapons he used.

We know a lot of people in Washington are talking about this incident.

And we know no one is going to do anything about it.

That’s the e saddest part of this sad story.  We know it will happen again.

We haven’t had a mental health policy in the United States since the 1975 Supreme Court’s ruling in the Donaldson case provided and excuse and the opportunity for states to relinquish their responsibility for the mentally ill and dump them on the streets.

We are no closer to a rational gun policy now than we were before Columbine, Tucson, Aurora, Ft. Hood, or Newtown.

What makes matters worse is that these are only a couple of the many systemic problems are society hasn’t addressed.

You can blame Congress.  You can blame the lobbyists.  You can talk about corruption, special interests, and our increasingly dysfunctional political system; but in our hearts we know we have no one to blame but ourselves because we allow these things to happen.

Einstein defined insanity as “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”  If you accept Einstein’s definition, we can’t keep electing the same people and playing by the same rules and expect things to change.  If we want things to change we have to reset the political process and try something different.

After a lot of thought, here’s my suggestion –  Let’s throw them all out.  Handle Congressional elections the way they handle the budget process – indiscriminately.  Make across the board cuts – every incumbent, good or bad, conservative or liberal, Democrat or Republican needs to go because if they aren’t part of the solution they are part of the problem.  Let’s throw them all out, this year and next year and every year after until they get the message they can’t get re-elected until they turn things around and start putting the people first.

According to a Gallup poll released last week, the trust and confidence the American people have in the federal government’s handling of both domestic and international problems is at an all time low –  lower even than it was during the height of the Watergate scandal in 1974.  The good news in this sad state of affairs is that it indicates there is a strong base of support for stopping the political insanity.  If enough of these people can be enlisted in this campaign, it won’t take long for the politicians to get the message.

 Twelve years ago but the memories are still fresh.

The Senate Office Buildings where I grew up looked like they were under siege. Concrete barriers blocked the streets.

Police were posted at intersections leading to the Capitol.  The National Guard could be seen patrolling the grounds.

Chicken wire surrounded the perimeter of the Hart Senate Office Building.  HAZMAT crews in their space suits could readily be seen moving about in and out of the building.

What used to be the Senate’s day care facility had been turned into an emergency response center.  It was across the street from where The Heart of America was housed at the time.  Daily, we could see people lining up for testing and treatment where children once played.

The country was still reeling from the aftershock of the World Trade Center when we were staggered by yet another blow – an Anthrax attack.  “Not again,” the soul whispered as the news broke, fearing the worst, wondering how many times the heart can break.

But in the midst of all the pain and sadness came reason for hope and cause for gratitude:

• The way our country responded and the way our people came together.  In truth, we answered their worst with our best.
• The courage shown by those whose lives were shattered on September 11, their grace under pressure.
• The rescue workers and those who lined the streets of New York at all hours of the night, applauding the rescue workers on their way home.
• The opportunity to redefine heroism in terms of service.  Before September 11 if you asked people about their heroes, kids would talk comic books and adults would talk sports.  Now when you ask about heroes, the image that comes immediately to everyone’s mind is a man or woman in uniform rushing into danger to rescue another human being in peril.
• The leaders who rose to the occasion and provided unimpeachable evidence that “Yes, the system can still work.”
• The reminder that freedom is our core value and that freedom is always at risk.
• The opportunity to stop and collectively consider what truly matters in our lives.

Now and then, it all comes down to the unending battle between darkness and light.  Daily, we are challenged to answer hate with love, evil with compassion, ignorance with understanding.

Increasingly as I grow older, I find myself considering the decisions that dictated the direction of my life.

I chose not to attend my high school graduation ceremony, eager to head for Washington, D.C. where I had a summer job at the U. S. Senate.  Though it was not a conscious decision at the time, it is clear now I was making a clean break with my past.  I still think of the Rockies as home but I never went back.

The separation was so complete I don’t remember – if I ever knew – who spoke to my graduating class.  Instead, I marked my transition to college and the real world by reading essays from Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.  This I remember clearly because one passage has always stayed with me.

“As life is action and passion,” Holmes said, “it is required of a man that he should share the passion and action of his time, at peril of being judged not to have lived.”

Holmes’ observation came from the perspective of a civil war veteran injured three times in battle, Harvard law professor, Associate Justice of the U. S. Supreme Court for 30 years, and the oldest man to have ever served on the Court.  Clearly, he had walked the talk and “lived” fully.  I resolved to follow his example and embrace life.  I was confident Washington would provide abundant opportunity.

A few years later, Doc English, my favorite teacher in law school, telegraphed another change of directions when he told me I probably would not make a good lawyer because I had an overdeveloped sense of justice.  A Philadelphia lawyer with years of trial experience, he knew what he was talking about.  It took me several years, including a year clerking with a law firm, to figure out he was right.

These things – my overdeveloped sense of justice and desire to share in the action and passion of my time – led me to the Mall 50 years ago.  The March on Washington was an unprecedented event.  I wanted to show my support and be part of it.

The collective memory of this event now focuses on Martin Luther King and his powerful words but the moment wasn’t so defined at the time.  King was one 18 speakers assembled for the occasion.  All of them had something to say.  It took history to show us King said it best.

My strongest memory of the moment, then and now, was not what the speakers had to say but the spirit of the occasion.  Everyone there knew we were part of something important, something special and transcendent.   The silent witness provided by the peaceful presence of so many people seeking justice spoke eloquently to the collective conscience of America, challenging us to live up our ideals.

The other indelible memory of the event was that it was permeated by fear.  The potential for violence was almost palpable.  Embedded in all that and perhaps feeding it was the unstated understanding that things were changing.  For most people, particularly those who embraced this change, Dr. King was a hero, a prophet who signaled the direction.  But some saw him differently.

The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) was concerned enough by the march and Dr. King’s speech to step up their investigations of the Southern Christian Leadership Council and target King specifically as an enemy of the State.  Speaking for the FBI, William C. Sullivan, head of Bureau’s intelligence operations, said, “We must mark him now, if we have not done so before, as the most dangerous Negro of the future in this Nation from the standpoint of communism, the Negro, and national security.   Prominent politicians lead by Senator Strom Thurmond were quick to agree and launched an attack on the March, labeling it Communist.

This animosity did not go away quickly.  When Dr. King was assassinated five years later, I was in law school.  I had just met my favorite law professor and was about to be drafted for Vietnam.  I watched as much of Washington went up in flames.  I remember seeing the smoke from the steps of the Capitol and talking with other Senate staffers about the riots that followed with sadness and disbelief.  No one knew where it would lead or how it would end.

The elevator talk that day was all about Dr. King’s assassination and the tragic events it triggered.  On one of my runs, a passenger heard the discussion and held back.  After everyone else had cleared he said, “It was about time somebody killed that son-of-a-bitch.”  In shock, I watched Strom Thurmond walk off my elevator and head down the hall.

It’s been fifty years.  Everyone knows a lot has changed.  Everyone knows a lot remains to be done.  For many people, the American Dream remains unfulfilled.  But it’s worth remembering that America is and always will be a work in progress.  America is an ideal to cherish and a dream to pursue.  We have come a long way but we still have a long way to go.  Every generation is challenged to share the action and passion of its time and form “a more perfect union.”