Smiles

6:00 a.m. Every morning it comes, arriving precisely on time, conspiring with my body to wake me in the sleepiest possible state. And with it, chirping softly as she pushes up on two tiny arms to see what she can of our dimly lit room through the ivory colored bars of her crib, my reason for waking up.

I stumble negligently out of bed and walk over to collect my daughter. I do this very well with my eyes closed. I carry her over to my wife’s side, and place her gently on the bed. She clasps her little hands together with a smile in anticipation of her favorite food—one that only her mother can provide. Having come to terms that I am not capable of fulfilling this need, I go back to bed. About ten or so minutes later, my wife nudges me lovingly and motions for me to look at our very satisfied baby who is clearly ready for the day. “Well,” I think to myself, “I guess that makes two of us.”

Out in the living room daylight forces my eyes to adjust. Over in one corner is the blanket of the day, laid out in a neat square shape, with a toy or two waiting to be played with. I imagine the toys suddenly pretending to be inanimate as I walk around the corner and wonder if I’ve seen Toy Story too many times. I lay Eve down on her back and her arms quickly straighten over her head as she stretches from the 11 hour slumber that must be quite rejuvenating. I, on the other hand, still can’t seem to get enough sleep.

“I’m tired,” I say to myself as I look down at her.

“You are?!” her wide eyes seem to say back to me. “You should come to bed at 7 with me. I feel great.”

And as I think about how to explain why I never make it to bed at 7, her wide eyed stare shifts into a smile and my tiredness is momentarily forgotten as we begin to exchange smiles and before I know it I’ve said “Good Morning” in 5 varieties of baby talk. She has a way like that.

No matter how hard I try to complain about being tired, or having to go to work, or not getting to be a baby and lay around on soft blankets all day and take naps, she takes the wind out of my discontent. With every smile she gives, I feel a little bit warmer, a little bit happier. This warmth and happiness builds by the minute as I’m with her, and by the time I have to walk out the door to catch the bus to work I’m wishing I could wake up at 6:00 a.m. all over again.

It’s amazing to me what power there is in such a simple expression on such a little face. Behind Eve’s smile is the purest innocence, unspoiled in a world of spoiled things. Behind her smile I see joy uninhibited by the worries of life. I see excitement that is not jaded; enthusiasm that is not forced. And I see a love that expresses itself in recognition: she knows me, and the sight of me makes her happy. I cannot imagine a better feeling. It overwhelms me, and for the life of me I can’t figure out what I did to deserve this smile, but I would never, ever undo it.

“I love you,” I say to her, as she grasps one of my fingers in each hand, bringing them slowly to her mouth, cooing all the while.

And though she can’t return the sentiment, she doesn’t have to. I know love when I see it, and I see it in her smile.

N

9/11

When I first mentioned to my wife that I was thinking about dedicating a post to 9/11, she calmly gave me some very practical (and very telling) advice in the concise expression "be careful." The advice was practical because 9/11, as a subject of discussion, is especially liable to arouse the plethora of emotions that any audience is sure to have on the topic. This is very telling because it illuminates the disparity of perceptions that surround 9/11, and the controversial place which this event holds in our consciousness (the advice, too, was directed at me, acknowledging the tendency of my writing to be critical and ironical--not a good combination for a dedication to our generation's signal patriotic rallying point). But, seeing as how I've already begun…

Sometimes I think about the moment before the first plane hit, before chaos set in and everyone inside began to function on instinct, when heads were still clear--I think of that person, sitting next to the window, who glanced out and saw what must have been a surreal sight, so surreal that it couldn't have registered at first, but it couldn't be denied either. I imagine that person staring down the nose of an airline passenger jet, trying to speak but having lost the power of speech, trying to move but glued to their seat. I imagine them finally drawing a breath, and not having the time to consider that those were their last moments. I imagine the nose of the airplane as it first pierces the glass, then a bookcase or a desk, and finally coming in contact with this onlooker, who for a split second was face to face with a 350,000 pound Boeing 767 traveling over 500 hundred miles an hour. Part of me likes to imagine that they didn't flinch, that they met their fate without blinking. But this would require understanding, it would require comprehension--and there was nothing to comprehend, only something to react to. Had it been me, I would have turned to run, a futile gesture driven by the will to survive.

Fast forward to July 7 ,2007. The place is a bustling market in a northern Shiite village outside of Baghdad, Iraq. The person is a child, a little girl, standing next to her mother as she buys some fruit. She stares off into the crowds, glancing here and there at what catches her eye. I ask myself is she sees the truck, the explosive-laden truck that has pulled into the market, and idles for a brief moment before it combusts into a whole of fire, metal and light, carrying villagers away as if they were leaves in the wind. And I ask myself if that little girl and the onlooker who met their fate face to face in Tower 1 are not victims of the same tragedy, a continuing tragedy that is not confined to one event, but is perpetuated by a force that no amount of anti-terrorism task forces or border check-points or body scanners can ever truly extinguish. That force is the force of human convictions, of human beliefs. Terribly, terribly misguided beliefs--but no less powerful than their peaceful counterparts. It is belief that has sent every suicide bomber to their self-imploding demise, and belief that these beliefs must be stopped that has sent our young men and women to foreign lands to stand in their way. The continuing tragedy is the never ending war of beliefs, and the cost in human lives exacted by the evolution of ideals into violence.

That's the most frustrating part of 9/11, in my view: the actualization of beliefs that we cannot fight until they are actualized. We cannot arrest terrorists for thinking terrorist thoughts (I think); we must wait for the fine line they cross in taking a step towards action, which is deadly business, since sometimes that step is into a crowded marketplace with a bomb strapped to it. Before this point, sometimes all we have is the force and appeal of countering ideas, or at most the economic sanctioning power of whatever consensus we can muster. Unfortunately, the resilient insurgencies and terrorist groups who embody the face of these beliefs can be hard to starve out, and even harder to approach. Conversation, I would say, is at a minimum.

I've often pictured a roundtable discussion between myself, a translator, and a small group of al-Qaeda militants. The question that haunts me is what would I say? What would I say when they tell me that the West has collectively murdered tens of thousands of their citizens and exploited their countries? What would I say when they tell me that they do what they do because of America's support for Israel, or because the Koran has commissioned the Jihad they stand behind? That none of that was true? That the Americans who died on 9/11 were innocent? That they had misinterpreted the core writings of their faith? Even when I construct some argument that forces them to consider the inconsistencies of their beliefs and to justify the bloodshed of the little children who are too young to be infidels or Westerners or anything but children, I think about snapshots or videos I've seen of our own citizens screaming in each other's faces over the truth of their beliefs, of signs that say "God hates fags," of pictures of Barrack Obama with Hitler's mustache, and I feel the weight of the convictions that manifest themselves in these enraged expressions, and how they may become inexorably intertwined with the identities of those who hold them. And although most days the people behind these slogans go home and don't set up IEDs outside of their rivals' driveways, the passion in their beliefs is not so different from those in other parts of the world who use violent means in waging their ideological wars on the world.

Freedom of belief is a liberty we champion in this country, even though some would prefer either a little less or a little more on the public stage. And we have accepted that this freedom comes at the cost of discord within our own nation, and we pay that price on a regular basis. What we cannot accept, and must never accept--especially within our own borders, and by our own people--is the dark escalation of personal beliefs into violence-begetting hatred. For when we reach that point, when we commit terrorist acts on one-another, we stoop to a commonality with people whom we have sworn to defeat at all costs.

If America can learn anything from 9/11 besides a respect for the sheer power of conviction, it should learn to be an example to the world of a peaceful pluralistic society, which is a damn hard thing to be--and that tells me it's got to be worth something.

"The evolving consecration of Ground Zero has been tortuous and fraught, occasionally a flea-circus pantomime of the historical and global frictions that, directly or indirectly, rendered this patch of Manhattan eligible for consecration in the first place."

Nick Paumgarten, writing for The New Yorker.

N

Comment response

Because the site would not allow me to post this comment (as the character length is over the maximum), I've given it its own post.

Ahh. You make a good reply.

You aptly point out that there is no small moral value in the act of prostehlytizing in the name of one's faith, especially when it fulfills a fundamental tenet. And this value is separate and independent from the success of the prosthelytizer. But in the same token, the degree of success is arguably the more significant value relative to the ultimate aims of the faith (again, in the Christian tradition). Yet clearly one attempting to spread his faith cannot be held solely responsible for the decisions of those he shares with to accept or reject his message. However he can be held responsible for his motivations for doing so, as well as the extent to which the particularities of his methods discourage acceptance amongst his audience (I suppose you could say that questioning the motivations of a street evangelist is equivalent to questioning their authenticity, although I think authenticity is a rather loaded term).

The answer, in my opinion then, to your question of whether "abrasive truth delivery" can be morally good depends on how you balance the values of obedience of the speaker and acceptance of the message (which under these circumstances could also be described as newfound salvation). A hesitation here might be that because the speaker cannot force acceptance of their message, then the only value for which they are responsible is obedience, which in this case is to deliver the message without distortion or falsification. This would probably be most genuinely accomplished by simply reading the scriptures aloud, allowing the audience to apply their own interpretations. But, given the impracticalities of reading the Bible out loud on the street to strangers, what usually occurs is that the interpretation of the speaker becomes the bulk of the message, and consequently the message inherits not only their personal ideology but their tones and mannerisms, and is confined to the limited portion that they choose to present. So it seems that although the one delivering the message can be only that--the deliverer of the message--they make a series of choices by which they shape the message, giving it a feel and a sound a certain appeal (or lack of appeal). In this way I believe the speaker becomes responsible for the second value, or for the acceptance of the message, to the extent that their personal choices regarding their delivery--not the message itself--negatively affects the audience's reception. And because it is my argument that the reception of the audience, given the significance of the decision before them, is the greatest value in this picture, then a delivery of the message that impedes this value is not morally good.

The crucial factor, as you mentioned, is whether an abrasive delivery, as opposed to a gentle-handed or any other kind, is more or less effective. And as far as what effectiveness means in this scenario, I think it cannot be divorced from its regular meaning, which in oratory would be the positive reception of the audience to the substance of the message, or the tendency of the message to move the audience in the some way that corresponds to the message's aims. To equate effectiveness of the message to simply its delivery by the speaker is to equate effectiveness to the moral value of the act of delivery, which moots the entire question of effect on the audience, which I am unwilling to do.

Now it is clear that the effectiveness of a message is largely dependent on the particularities of the audience, and every speaker must accept that they cannot always predict or influence these particularities before the message is delivered. But that does not mean that there are not general truths about audiences (whether it be a crowd or a single person on the street) that can assist in making a message more effective. These general truths, I think, are identifiable by considering simple human qualities and characteristics that affect perception. For instance, the fact that most people are repelled by judgmental accusations is obvious, and as equally obvious is the fact that most people respond well to kindness, respect, and acceptance. And although, especially when we're talking about street evangelists, the content of the message should not be altered to fit the audience, it should not be forgotten that the message is broad and deep, and has many facets that appeal to secular audiences, as well as some that scare and anger them. The truth of the latter is not diminished because an audience refuses to accept it, but it may very well be that the same audience, with the right foundation of understanding and opportunity for consideration, could be moved to embrace the harsher truths which the message presents--truths which are not best shared by a loud and judgmental voice of a passing stranger.

So yes, abrasive truth is still truth, and one can only lead an audience to water (so to speak). But if people are more susceptible to persuasion when approached a certain way, to ignore these sensibilities is not only reduce effectiveness, but to choose a style of delivery which is not necessitated by the message itself, and for what? Because it suits the speaker? Surely there is a better way.

To err is human, so we say. At least that’s what I told the man who approached me Friday as I walked to my car after work. I mean after he told me that if we loved Jesus, then we would, literally, sin no more. Did I mention he was a street evangelist? At first he just asked me if I had a relationship with God, or something to that affect, as I attempted to walk briskly by him. I told him I was “good,” meaning “It’s okay I’ve heard the message, and I’ve come to a decision about that”. For some reason I don’t think he ascertained my full meaning, especially since he responded with “well how can anyone be good?”

“Well I don’t mean literally,” I said. “I just mean, you know, I’ve come to an understanding in my faith is all.”

“Is Christ God?” he responded.

“In a way I suppose yes,” I said.

“Well what other way is there?”

“Well you know that’s a complicated concept.”

“Not really,” he replied. “Jesus says if you love me you will obey my commands. Go and sin no more.”

I decided here not to point out that he had slightly conflated the idea of Jesus being God with Jesus’ message about love and obedience. And it wasn’t that I disagreed with his initial proposition, it was just that I think the idea of the trinity isn’t the simplest theological concept there is. But I digress.

This went on for a bit, and he further expanded on this premise.

“If you love Jesus, how can you keep on sinning?”

“Well I don’t think God expects you to be sinless. I think God expects you to try.”

“The Bible doesn’t say ‘go and try not to sin,’ it says ‘don’t sin.’”

“Yes but I don’t think we’re capable of sinlessness.”

“If you’re truly transformed you won’t continue to live in sin.”

“Well yes but I think there’s a difference between living in sin and committing a sin. To live in sin is thought of as to sin without remorse or repentance, not pursuing a less sinful life. This is different than simply committing a sin, wh-“

And it was at this time that he cut me off, handing me a card with a picture on the front of a grave (in what appeared to be Hell, which I thought was overkill, since we’ll already be buried on earth) with the interrogative “Where you will go when you die?” on it.

“Email me if you have any more questions about sinlessness,” were his parting words.

While recognizing immediately that he was the last person who I would email about sinlessness, I marveled at the fact that I had succeeded in annoying a street evangelist enough that he walked away from me. Maybe he realized that I was not his ideal target, and that instead of evangelizing he was delving into an interpretive debate that failed to provide him with the thrill of fighting a non-believer on more fundamental issues like God’s existence and the evils of attending the Nashville National Folk Festival, which was the event that had drawn him there, as it would naturally provide crowds of heathens for good hunting.

Overall, I thought he was overly confrontational and thereby ineffective, a common (non) quality of the street evangelist. The coercive tone of a stranger standing on a street corner, yelling that you must have a relationship with God always strikes me with irony. I also have difficulty appreciating the presumptuousness of their questions. It’s as if it never occurred to them that someone might find the idea of a Supreme Being—whose existence (in the Christian tradition) is a unified tripartite with separate and distinct elements (in the form of Christ and the Holy Spirit)—a bit of a foreign concept. Not to mention that they gloss over what surely must be a non-believer’s difficulty of conceiving of a relationship with this being, and exactly what that means.

I kept the card, and intend to put it up in my office should I ever change my mind about seeking advice on sinlessness—I guess in the event that I exhaust every other credible source on earth that covers this topic, and am left with no choice but to resort to the opinings of a man who was wearing mirrored Oakleys as he enlightened me with scriptural truths (although in his defense, it was quite sunny). I’m sure he’s at the festival right now, assuming everyone he approaches is damned to Hell, and that as he points his finger and recites the Ten Commandments, he is confident that he does God’s work.

I’ve spent more than most of my Sundays in church, and I was even awarded a Bible once for scripture memorization (it was a enviable NIV Study Bible). Yet I lack the same confidence held by the Oakleyed man, and maybe he’s right—maybe I think too much about what it all means, and I complicate the matter unnecessarily. Maybe I should just hand out cards with imposing questions on them that suggest my beliefs. I could start simple. “What kind of food will you eat too much of tonight?” or “How many times will you go see movies that you know are going to be bad?” or “How much money will you spend internet shopping this week?” I’m sure eventually I could work my way up to questions about eternity.

“What will you do when the Oceans run out of fish?” (accompanied by picture of fish in Hell).