There is a surplus of darkness in our world, by which I am referring not only to the season in the Northern Hemisphere, but also to the deadly attack on Bondi Beach in Australia.
No, the darkness to which I refer is an epidemic of murderous actions, which provide headlines of horror and then, alas, we seem to move on as if immune, as if powerless, as if we are not affected, infected.
An old prayer book citation comes to mind. “If there is goodness at the heart of life, then its power, like the power of evil, is real. Which shall prevail? Moment by moment, we choose between them. If we choose rightly, and often enough, the broken fragments of our world will be restored to wholeness.”
But too often we hide in a casual indifference. It’s not my problem, or there is really nothing I can do, or, worse, want to do about it.
This brings to mind a moment on Aug. 28, 1963.
Rabbi Joachim Prinz was the penultimate speaker at the Lincoln Memorial. Few remember his reflections as he was followed by a certain Dr. Martin Luther King, who delivered what ranks among the most memorable expressions of the American ideal, of the dream that animates the best in our national character.
That said, the rabbi’s commentary deserves attention.
Prinz, a refugee from Nazi Germany, asserted that Adolf Hitler’s genius was that he made it possible for people to collaborate in murder simply by doing nothing.
While one may argue that it is an exceptional consequence of indifference, one cannot but observe that our nation and world have no shortage of citizens on the sidelines.
I suspect in some measure that is the consequence of our having deficits in empathy and compassion.
And since I tend to think in illustrations or stories, I am reminded of an image offered by the German pessimist philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer. He suggests human beings are like porcupines.
To clarify, against the cold of winter, porcupines move close to gain warmth from one another, but those darn quills always get in the way.
So, after a substantial number of attempts, porcupines decide to live not too close and not too far.
Schopenhauer insisted that is the final word — not only for porcupines, but also for us.
We may crave connection, desire intimacy, but our quills get in the way.
For us, that may be the baggage that keeps us indifferent to another’s needs or pain. Our quills are the too comfortable conviction that it’s not my problem, or that someone else will help or any number of excuses, anxieties or fears masquerading as the conviction that we just can’t make a difference.
