Deborah's Journal

"Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless." -- Mark Twain

As I read these words, I am reminded of what William Penn, Quaker and namesake of Pennsylvania, said: "Let us then try what love can do to mend a broken world."

When I talk about kindness and compassion, the state of the world often is the first thing that comes to mind. As I write this, folks are struggling to come to terms with and respond appropriately (or not) to events of spectacular violence. We're all feeling shaken. There's a great deal of public discourse about compassion vs retaliation vs pre-emptive action vs addressing root causes, so there is no need to elaborate here.

Kindness can exist "out there in the world" and it can exist inside ourselves, a quality to be cultivated. It is also an important consideration in the creation and development of fictional characters. First and foremost, just about everyone except sociopaths has some degree of kindness and it manifests to one degree or another in various ways under various circumstances. Sometimes it seems that authors are so fixated on dynamic action or escalating tension or nifty gee-whiz ideas that they forget the role of kindness in every human interaction. (In science fiction and fantasy, this includes non-humans as well!) It may be a small role, or so tiny as to be undetectable, or it may be the dominant emotional axis, but it is always there.
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Last night, I was watching a movie and noted that a series of breakneck action scenes was followed by a short catch-your-breath pause. Characters are binding up their wounds, repairing their weapons, that sort of thing. And there was a moment of kindness. Not the expected sort of comforting the injured or checking to see how everyone fared. This moment had more to do with taking that kindness a step further so that the care-taking character could see the good they had done.

Nationally, we talk about the Gross National Product, the total worth of all the products and services produced in one year in a given country. Well, the ones that are typically measured in dollars or shekels or pounds. Some years ago, the King of Bhutan talked about the Gross National Happiness, as if that, too, were something that can be quantified. How about a Gross National Kindness? Or, more specific to story-tellers, the Greater Narrative Kindness?

Kindness isn't about feel-good, let's-all-be-best-friends naive solutions to dramatic problems, or conflicts arising from powerful forces like scarce resources, injustice, blind ambition, or utter evil? It's about small deeds that weave together the lives of the characters, creating and sustaining loyalty and friendship, even devotion. It also isn't an either/or on/off thing.

One way to add depth and complexity, not to mention sympathy, to your characters is to take note of where they are on this spectrum of kindness at any given time and with these particular other characters. The most straightforward presentation is externally observable kind words or deeds. But it might also be that your character is feeling distinctly unkind -- how does that influence his behavior? her speech -- words, tone, contrast with body language? Or your character might be feeling kindness but unable to express it. This opens a host of possibilities for letting the reader know, for revealing and deepening that character.

Or -- and here the potential gets really juicy -- a character who feels no kindness but nevertheless acts in a kind way. Why the discrepancy? Is this an unfeeling person? Or a person who might be kind under other circumstances but not these? Why then behave contrary to genuine feeling? What does she have to gain? And how does the very act of kindness change her?

I'd love to hear your thoughts on the role of kindness in character and story.

Bunches of folks on FB have linked to an article on the use of dogs in war. While I find the idea of teaching a dog to parachute interesting in a bizarre sort of way, I'm disturbed about training dogs for jobs that ultimately hurt people and traumatize the dogs. Just like people, they come home psychologically scarred. If they come home at all.

I think of Oka, our wonderful 10 year old German Shepherd Dog, and how much delight he gets from pleasing his people. He's got the breed-characteristic aloofness with those he doesn't know, but there's a sweetness and trust in whatever he does. He wants so badly to be a good dog. (We tell him often that he is.)

How easy it is to abuse that innocent desire. In almost all circumstances, we people are the ones with the moral agency. It's up to us to discern right action, nonviolent solutions, and compassionate choices. Dogs don't care about popularity or economic status or religious affiliation. Most of them, those that haven't been ruined by poor socialization and worse training, would be just fine in a world that had enough chew toys for everyone. If the organized slaughter of other human beings is wrong, then how much worse is it to use animals whose desire is to please us in that cause? They deserve better of us, and we deserve better of ourselves.

Here is a thoughtful article by Quaker Eileen Flanagan on how our perception of a compassionate or authoritative universe/divinity colors our politics. "Authoritative" isn't quite right, since it carries a negative connotation in this context. My brain couldn't come up with a more neutral word. Flanagan is using George Lakoff's terms:

George Lakoff, a Professor of Cognitive Science and Linguistics who has written for Tikkun about the importance of "framing" issues, has described "the politics of authority" and "the politics of empathy" as competing moral systems that co-exist within most of us, though we may tend toward one or another. An authority mindset values self-discipline, obedience, and personal responsibility, while an empathy mindset values caring for one's neighbor, whether through personal charity or government programs. A sick woman without a green card is an "illegal alien" who deserves what she gets, or she is the very "least of these" that Jesus instructed his followers to care for, depending on how you think about morality.

What strikes me is the merit in both viewpoints. Personal responsibility and initiative (hence, valuing government letting people make their own choices) can be a very good thing. I think there are areas -- like relationships, sexual conduct, speech -- where government has no business. Where does 'caring for one's neighbor' stop and managing that person's life begin?

I notice my own reactions when a street person asks me for money. Part of me says, "Don't give him cash, he might spend it on drugs." Another part says, "Accord him the dignity of making his own decisions." Then the first part says, "I don't want to contribute to behavior that might kill him." "Who are you to judge? Maybe this is just what he needs to 'hit bottom' and turn his life around. And maybe he really is just hungry or in need of bus fare."

Some thoughts that help me through this: one is that a kind word and direct eye contact, while perhaps more difficult than simply shoving a dollar into his hand, are more meaningful. This is a human being, to be treated with respect and compassion. If I cannot "spare" some change, I can give him a minute of my undivided attention, to be as present and caring as I can. This demands that I tell the truth, especially about my own boundaries.

Another response is to say, "I'm not comfortable giving you money, but I can buy you a meal." And then let him select what he wants. Obviously, there needs to be a restaurant or food cart nearby, and there usually is, and a minimum amount of time. But if I'm feeling rushed or late, maybe I need to examine my priorities. My day may be filled with chores to be done, none of them very consequential, but only one opportunity such as this.

Eileen's article was published in the magazine Tikkun, from the Hebrew "tikkun olam" -- "repairing the world." Repairing, one little bit at a time, sorrow and want, injustice and despair. I get to do that? What a gift.