Eucatastrophe Reader

"The average human being is a failed saint"

Strangers Drowning REVIEW

Strangers Drowning by Melissa MacFarquhar is a fascinating look into the world of the serious altruist. It is a book about people who take self-sacrifice to “iron-man competition” levels. The characters that are depicted in the book could either be classified as “saints” or “mentally ill” I suppose. They all exhibit tendencies of the OCD personality (almost like they are reverse narcissists, perhaps). One finds themselves wondering “should I be emulating these people or pitying them?” The author refers to the subjects she studies as “do gooders.” There is a hint of criticism in that choice of words I suppose isn’t there? There are so many lovely quotes in this book that could be drawn upon in a discussion about ethics, I think I will simply provide a few and respond with some questions for discussion:

MacFarquhar writes:

“Do-gooders are different from ordinary people because they are willing to weigh their lives and their families in a balance with the needs of strangers. They’re willing to risk the one for the sake of the other. They, like anyone else, believe that they have duties to the family, but they draw the line between family and strangers in a different place. It’s not that they value strangers more: it’s that they remember that strangers have lives and families, too.”

It is interesting that this impulse to expand the definition of family is one that made Jesus such a revolutionary and frustratingly idealistic moralist. He clearly demanded that people see the “family” in people who were not family. His insight was probably the notion that as others did the same and looked at you as family, your life would significantly improve even as you raised your level of sacrifice. They, it was thought, would “sacrifice back.” Do you think they would?

“The do-gooder, on the other hand, knows that there is crisis everywhere, all the time, and he seeks them out. He is not spontaneous – he plans his good deeds in cold blood. He may be compassionate, but compassion is not why he does what he does – he committed himself to helping before he saw the person who needs him. He has no ordinary life: his good deeds are his life.”

MacFarquhar notes that the altruists that she has focused on are intellectually driven as much as, if not more so, than emotionally driven. Some do-gooders are supremely calculateing in the way they practice their sacrificial priorities. Like Kant, they prefer to give with uncluttered emotional motivations. They calculate their way to caring rather than feel their way. Do you think this makes it easier or harder to be an altruist or to act altruistically?

“A do-gooder might not go so far as hatred or abandonment, but the fact that he even asked himself how much he should do for his family and how much for strangers – weighing the two together in the same balance – may seem already a step too far. Not all religions permit one to neglect a family for the sake of strangers.”

“Suppose a man could save either his wife or two strangers from drowning, Williams proposed. A Utilitarian might ask: is it permissible for the man to save his wife? But even to ask that question in such a situation was to have, as Williams dryly put it, one thought too many. A Loving husband would save his wife spontaneously, without consulting moral rules at all. To Grant morality the power to adjudicate impartiality in situations like that would be to abandon what gives human life its meaning. Without selfish partiality – to people you are deeply attached to, your family and friends, to place – we are nothing. We are creatures of kinship and loyalty, not blind servants of the world.”

Is there something wrong with spontaneity? With what we feel like doing? With what nature would suggest? These are the arguments of the Romantics like Rousseau and William Blake and Goethe. This dilemma is highlighted in Robert Frost’s poem “Love and a Question” where a newly married husband has to wonder if he is obligated to invite a homeless man in on a cold October night the first day of his honeymoon. Should we ever decide against nature? Is the price we pay for doing so too high?

“George Orwell found Gandhi’s beliefs [in asceticism] repellent. He wrote, “it is too readily assumed that the ordinary man only rejects saintliness because it is too difficult: in other words, that the average human being is a failed saint. It is doubtful whether this is true. Many people genuinely do not wish to be saints, but it is probable those who somehow achieve or aspire to sainthood have never felt much temptation to be human beings.”

This goes back to that idea of the saint. For centuries, cultures have made saints out of people who have been particularly good at self-sacrificing behavior or even martyrdom. Foxe’s Book of Martyrs by John Foxe (first published in 1563) comes to mind in my Protestant tradition. Should we, as a culture, put saints on a pedestal? Offer awards and recognition to people who go above and beyond in their willingness to sacrifice? Or should we celebrate people who live more balanced lives?

“To accept this idea of utilitarianism – that in principle at least, we owe as much to distant strangers as to people we are close to – is to reject a core part of what most people believe. Even to dismiss the importance of physical distance is extremely radical. As the philosopher Kwame Anthony Appiah has pointed out, a strict utilitarian would not rescue the child from the shallow pond at all [if to do so meant getting all muddy]: he would leave the child to drown, sell his unmuddied clothes, and donate the proceeds to a charity that could save more than one child with the money. That is how bizarre it is to dismiss physical distance. But, of course, displacing the preeminence of duty to family is a far greater leap. You might say that this question of family versus strangers is one of quality rather than quantity: who must I help, rather than how much? In practice, though, there are almost always many more strangers in dire need, than relatives.”

“There are many more strangers in dire need than relatives.” That is impossible to contest. And we must, at some level, understand that if we practice altruistic purity when others do not, we will soon be in serious crisis of scarcity. We assume that will be what happens. If you are a saint, it is a rare person who will, even if they are impressed by you, reciprocate with you. Is there something wrong with this realism?  Should we put all our chips on the table anyway? Someone once told me in teaching that if I wanted my students to bleed, I had to hemorrhage.

“When Peter Singer‘s mother developed advanced Alzheimer’s, Singer, in violation of his theories about both giving and personhood, had spent a lot of money paying nurses to take care of her. ‘Perhaps it is more difficult than I thought before,’ he said, ‘because it is different when it’s your mother.’”

Critics of Singer love to point out his inconsistency and argue, “See! His standards were too high even for him!” Is this a case of Singer “seeing the light” or a case of Singer walking into the dark?

“To a romantic, desire is less something to be restrained, as a do-gooder would restrain it, then the very stuff of life. ‘Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained,’ wrote William Blake, one of the first romantic poets, with contempt. ‘And being restrained, it by degrees becomes passive till it is only the shadow of desire.’ To a certain kind of romantic, the struggles of a do-gooder with himself can look misguided to the point of suicide.”

Does it require a certain mutation to be a consistent altruist? That is, must there be some sociopathy involved in serious altruism? A state of natural disconnection or dissociation from normal human emotion?

“What do gooders lack is not happiness but innocence. They lack that happy blindness that allows most people, most of the time, to shut their minds to what is unbearable. Do gooders have forced themselves to know, and keep on knowing, that everything they do affects other people, and that sometimes, though not always, their joy is purchased with other peoples joy. And, remembering that, they open themselves to a sense of unlimited, crushing responsibility.”

“Do-gooders learn to codify their horror into a routine and a set of habits they can live with. They know they must do this in order to stay sane. But this partial blindness is chosen and forced and never quite convincing. It takes a strong stomach to see the world’s misery, feel a sense of duty to do something about it, and then say to yourself, I have done enough, now I’m going to shut my eyes and close my ears and turn my back. Do-gooders who last have strong stomachs.”

What do you think about this habit of forcing yourself to “know and keep on knowing” one’s impact on others? Is it possible to be just too good at it and is that as detrimental to flourishing as having too little ability to empathize and care?

“In these surviving sources, we witness Sally write herself into being.”

Pious Ambitions: Sally Merriam Wait’s Mission South 1813-1831 REVIEW

Mary Tribble’s work on Sally Merriam would be an asset to a class on early Vermont as much as it would be an essential book for understanding the origins of Wake Forest University. This sort of research is the obvious consequence of what happens when curiosity is combined with time and an archive of primary sources. It makes me wish everyone would write more about their lives. In her introduction, Mary Tribble writes, “In these surviving sources we witness Sally write herself into being.” And certainly, this is true when it comes to the historical record.

In several places in the book, Mary mentions the influential place that Middletown pastor Sylvanus Haynes had on the life of her husband and herself. As someone who presently possesses Sylvanus’ 1782-1816 journal, I particularly appreciated the work that Mary did on uncovering the sources of late eighteenth century and early nineteenth century religious journaling practices. At one point, she writes,

“For Newly converted Baptists, keeping a journal was itself a spiritual act. In his writings, Jonathan Edwards taught Christians how to lead a pious life. His recommended practices, including study, contemplation, journaling, and secret prayers, had been adopted by the generation before Sally. While she did not study Edwards until the summer of 1821, the influence of his conversion rhetoric was in the ‘baptismal water’ in early 19th century New England, and Sally followed the example.”

Mary later adds,

“Her journal is the curated reflection of her life cast as a religious and moral instruction manual. The format and tone of her journal mimics many of the early diaries published around that time, including those of Sarah Osborne and Harriet Newell, as well as that of Mrs. Abigail Collier, the wife of Reverend William Collier, published in Boston in 1813. The passages in Sally’s journal mirror those found in all three of these memoirs, using the prescribed rhetoric of pious women exerting their faith and worrying about their sins and salvation.”

I can only echo what Mary Tribble has said above when reflecting upon the content and form of Sylvanus’ journal as well. There is an element of derivative expression in these works that marks them as expressions of conformity more than creativity. Though personality is still evident through and through they attempt to follow a defined pattern. Clearly, both Sylvanus and Mary were seeking to emulate Jonathan Edwards and not Benjamin Franklin in the way that they reflected on their own lives. [See my post on that subject HERE.]

A few things from Pious Ambitions were particularly noteworthy to me. First was just how emotions were permitted in religious contexts that were held to be suspect in romantic contexts. In Sylvanus’ journal, he early on forswears any form of “unchastity” and rarely mentions that he even has a body or things like hormones. In Sally’s journal, we find her reticent to mention matters of the heart well into her twenties. Mary writes the following passage illustrating the point.

“In the end, Sally recovered her composure, writing, ‘the morning before I returned [from visiting her future husband’s family in Tinmouth] I felt less embarrassed and more cheerful. I am not now sorry I went.’ Just a few days later, Sally finally admitted that her heart was inclined towards Samuel. On February 17, 1817, she wrote, ‘I now find myself under the influence of a very strong attachment. It was long before I dare own this to my own heart. But at length I have been constrained to. When I did, I felt my pride greatly wounded. I felt as though I had done violence to my former delicacy.’ Sally felt her delicacy – her innocence – had been threatened by her feelings for Samuel, and therefore took great caution before succumbing to her heart.”

“In her same February declaration of attachment, Sally admitted how thoroughly perplexed she was not to have full control over her feelings,” Mary adds a few pages later.

Another interesting comparison between Sally Wait and Sylvanus Haynes has to do with the difficulty both had with the internal conflict between aspirations of humility and the aspiration to be influential. When Sylvanus had been converted to the Baptist denomination as a teenager, he had been discouraged from pursuing college credentials. It was regarded as somewhat of a “Congregationalist” thing to do I suppose - something a bit too worldly for a follower of the son of a carpenter. Eventually, Sylvanus would acquire an honorary degree from Middlebury College just before he moved to Western NY State where he hoped to participate in the founding of a Baptist College there.

Similarly, as Mary Tribble writes,

“Sally’s pious ambitions were tempered by her willingness to accept the limits of a woman’s role in the secular and evangelical communities. In some ways, she was considered a partner in their shared calling. For instance, as Samuel began imagining their life together after his schooling, he wrote about their future work, referring to ‘our studies’ and joint decisions. ‘I have often inquired in my own mind what plan we should adopt in relation to our studies when we come to live together again… How happy shall I be when we come to sit down together to make these calculations!’ The shared decision making, however, was set within the context of the gender norms that clearly established women subservient to their spouses …”

Both Sylvanus and Sally could be suspicious of ambitions and the impulse to exercise their obvious gifts in a world where ambition was something that was deemed “unbecoming” of a minister or of a woman. This must have been a constant tension for both. Eventually, Sally and Samuel Wait exchanged a life in New England for life in the South just as Sylvanus left the backwoods of Middletown for the more intellectual work of college building. Tribble notes that Samuel Wait was a Mason and that his decision not to return to Vermont to be a minister had something to do with his attachment to the status that Masonry would have provided him. Mary Tribble writes:

“The shifting political forces as 1830 dawned also affected the family’s choice of home. The anti-Mason movement was in full swing in Vermont, and with Samuel unwilling to renounce his oath, his potential to fill a pulpit narrowed.”

In like manner, Sally Wait eventually took to some of the accoutrements of Southern cultural refinement. One senses that both members of the couple preferred to find themselves belonging to a class as high as their gifts and education could take them and were not interested in remaining in the class they were born in. They enjoyed the feelings they got from finding themselves in an ascendant class, economically and politically. When Samuel Wait’s college established itself in Washington DC with powerful political sponsors, they responded with interest in obtaining more of the same.   

Pious Ambitions also explores how this ambition for status impacted the Waits’ views of slavery. Tribble makes it clear that Mary Wait’s home church in Brandon was making its way towards a hard-line abolitionism even as Samuel and Sally were accommodating themselves to Southern slavery in principle and in practice. Mary writes,

“Perhaps she [Sally] compartmentalized the slavery issue in her mind, convincing herself that the black laborers we’re not so different from the girls she hired in Rutland to braid her straw for fancy bonnets or the daughters of neighbors that her mother and sister employed to keep house and help with the spinning. For Sally, the idea of girls working in other families was not uncommon, but such stints of domestic service presumably ended for free women when they married and began a household of their own. In Vermont, household domestic workers would have been lower-class free Whites. In Washington city, they were enslaved Black people.”

I found it interesting that Sally was entirely ready for her husband to take over Sylvanus’ pastorate when the later passed away in late 1826. In Pious Ambitions, we read,

“Sally was lonely and distraught that Samuel was again drawn to the south. In February, she wrote to Samuel about the death of his old mentor Sylvanus Haynes, whom he had just seen on his trip in western New York. ‘Some of our friends have thought of the vacancy as an eligible situation for you,’ Sally suggested. She took the opportunity to express her distress, writing, ‘I long for the time when we may be permitted to dwell in quiet by our own fire side… and can together bow before the family altar.’”

She notes that it was a Providential event involving a horse that would decide the Wait’s fate and lead them to stay in North Carolina and found Wake Forest University.

The conclusion of Pious Ambitions, struck me as a poignant reminder that we all have a part to play in how we will be remembered, if we wish to be remembered.

“We search for meaning in the few surviving fragments of a person’s life, reading significance into objects and words that represent only a fraction of the whole. The preservation of these fragile items certainly infers a venerated narrative that Sally’s descendants have shared from generation to generation. How Sally Wait herself measured her response to God‘s call, we will never know.”

Question for Comment: What would a collection of your journals, letters, (emails) or Facebook posts say about who you were? Would there be anything there worth writing a biography? Why or why not?