One of the fun things about being a professor is organizing student groups of one kind or another. One of our groups meets in order to provide extra opportunities for practicing written and discussion skills. These are important tools for scientists, so one can scarcely get enough practice.
This particular student group is always fun. We meet weekly. The faces change from year to year, but the discussions stay interesting. Every group is a bit different.
One of the fun projects assigns groups of three students to lead discussions on topics of current interest that cannot be about laboratory science (since that is what the rest of the program is about). Instead, the topics are to be current events, or ethics, or controversial issues. The goal is to present ideas about which people care deeply, and then to lead a thoughtful discussion that values all the opinions in the room without letting tempers or disrespect obscure the communication. It is fun. Sometimes it is challenging. I always enjoy it, and the students find the change of pace to be refreshing. This kind of discussion is all too uncommon during graduate school training, where 99.9% of the focus is on intense scientific experimentation.
The discussion topics tend to range far and wide. We’ve talked about piracy off of Somalia. We’ve talked about HIV, health disparities, conspiracy theories, the end of the world, religious views of origins, Facebook, and many more.
One of the things I find fascinating is how quickly the topics almost inevitably become discussions of spirituality and faith, seemingly regardless of the original subject matter. These core issues seem to be just below the surface for many students. It’s not like we are going to steer clear of religion. It finds a way of honestly bubbling to the surface once we let passionate discussions expand beyond science.
That fascinates me.
I also always get the nagging feeling that I should find extra-curricular ways to facilitate these conversations more broadly among students. Some are agnostics or atheists, but many adhere to strong faith traditions. I think these are worth exploring, even challenging. I feel that way partly because of my conviction that not all traditions are legitimate, not all are created equal, and many may be, as C.S. Lewis might put it, “echoes” of the one Truth.
A few weeks ago the students led a discussion of the 2010 earthquake disaster in Haiti. It was another interesting topic, especially for affluent American students. On the other hand, several in the room came from developing countries, and some had specific links to the devastated island. We were faced with the uncomfortable issue of how to choose whom in this world to help. With so many in need, and the media making the disparities so much more obvious than ever before, what are we to do? How do we “rank” the calls for help around us?
Great questions.
We listened to each other work through the challenge in discussion. The students had done some significant thinking about this. Most had developed some kind of philosophy of charity. As we talked, a sort of consensus began to emerge. It seemed to be about concentric circles. In essence, many expressed that we first take care of ourselves, then our “own” (our immediate family), then our extended family, then our immediate community, then…
The concentric circle model makes sense. We are in the very center, where we belong. Right? This life is essentially about us, right? After taking care of #1, who then better deserves our help than our parents, brothers and sisters?
We discussed how this model makes evolutionary sense, with our genes watching out for themselves. Protecting our DNA, and the DNA most like our own (mom, dad, sis, bro) sounds like a great survival advantage that should be a selectable genetic trait.
Settled.
But then we talked some more. We began to reflect on the admiration that societies hold for those that reject concentric circles and step right out of the center. We talked with a degree of reverence about Mother Teresa, and the martyrs and those who forsake comfort and health to bring resources or a saving message to distant strangers whose genes are as different as they could be.
A fable told by Catholic priest Henri Nouwen (1932-1996) came to my mind. The story is available online and isn’t hard to find by Googling.
Once there was a very old man who used to meditate early every morning under a large tree on the bank of the Ganges River in India. One morning, having finished his meditation, the old man opened his eyes and saw a scorpion floating helplessly in the strong current of the river. As the scorpion was pulled close to the tree, it got caught in the long tree roots that branched out far into the river. The scorpion struggled frantically to free itself but got more and more entangled in the complex network of the tree roots.
When the old man saw this, he immediately stretched himself onto the extended roots and reached out to rescue the drowning scorpion. But as soon as he touched it, the animal jerked and stung him wildly. Instinctively, the man withdrew his hand, but then, after having regained his balance, he once again stretched himself out along the roots to save the agonized scorpion. But every time the old man came within reach, the scorpion stung him so badly with its poisonous tail that his hands became swollen and bloody and his face distorted by pain.
At that moment, a passerby saw the old man stretched out on the roots struggling with the scorpion and shouted: "Hey, stupid old man. What's wrong with you? Only a fool risks his life for the sake of an ugly, useless creature. Don't you know that you may kill yourself to save that ungrateful animal?"
Slowly the old man turned his head, and looking calmly in the stranger's eyes, he said: "Friend, because it is the nature of the scorpion to sting, why should I give up my own nature to save?"
This piece seems to provide the most extravagant possible example of getting out of the center of the concentric circles. Is it possible that a person would sacrifice themself even for an animal—even for a scorpion—even for a scorpion that is viciously and mindlessly stinging in response to the saving gesture? Could humanity ever really jump that far out of the center of the concentric circles?
More importantly, why do our hearts admire the old man in this fable? What is it in us that reveres and longs to imitate this selflessness. Even though our minds reason us into concentric circles, something (and it isn’t our DNA) tells our hearts that serving strangers and saving stinging scorpions is what we were really made to do.
It fascinates me that we are wired to admire this non-concentric behavior.
Then it occurred to me that Nouwen’s story actually has nothing to do with scorpions or old men, and it is not a fable designed to guilt us into selflessness. It is not about trying to get us out of the center of our concentric circles. Nouwen is reminding us gently that there is a reason we all are wired to long for non-concentric lives.
This is because the loveliest story that has ever been told is about the ultimate non-concentric life. We are built to adore this story. It is about the loveliest heart that can ever have existed giving up everything for the most vicious stinging scorpion imaginable. It is about God taking upon himself humanity in order to experience the pain, hopelessness and meaninglessness that only humans could create for themselves. In this humanity, this loveliest heart saturates himself with the human experience of suffering. In this humanity, taking upon himself the excruciating (literally “torment of the cross”) pain, he willingly experiences torture and sacrificial death where no tug of DNA can be blamed.
This is a death as far from the center of concentric circles as any being could ever get. This is the one with the most to lose giving it up for the one with the most to gain. This is the story that echoes in every fairy tale with a happy ending. It is the story our hearts were wired to hear.
I try to resist turning our discussion groups into sermon platforms. I like to see how the students thoughtfully come to tough conclusions on their own. Sometimes this leads to very important one-on-one chats later in my office.
I only said to the group, “Could it be that the reason those whose non-concentric lives are so touching to us is because they point us to a deeper and more ancient story? We long for that story but seem to have forgotten it.”
It is a fun discussion group.
3/10
