This past week I spent several days in Homer, the little N. Louisiana town where I grew up.  I went there to attend my 50th high school reunion, and once I got used to the idea that I actually graduated that long ago, I began looking forward to the event.

Almost as soon as I arrived at the afternoon gathering which opened the festivities, I learned that 11 of my 48 classmates were dead, 2 from suicide.  Then I talked with another classmate to whom I was particularly close, and I asked about his older brother.  He spoke in hushed tones: “Oh, he’s been dead for 30 years.  He killed himself.”  Welcome to Reality Reunion.  I wondered if this percentage of losses was normal, or if we were particularly prone to death–at least the men in our class, for 10 of the deceased were men.

My classmates were grown-ups.  They were (mostly) not playing games or being shy or competing.  They were just who they are, and glad to be there with one another.  The beauty queens were still pretty, if a bit thicker at the waist.  Some of us nerds had blossomed into more attractive adults.  People mainly had stayed married, many to hometown friends.  One woman I knew well had had a stroke and needed to remain seated.  Another who had been my college roommate had had a double mastectomy and had almost died a couple of years ago from a blood clot racing to her heart.  The top student in our class looked great–he had become a doctor, board certified in two specialties.  But his wife barely made it to the reunion.  She was suffering from a neurological disease which almost killed her last year, he said.  She looked pale and drawn.  He reminded me that in high school he and I “had been competitive.”

Maybe we had.  I didn’t remember it that way.  And now, what did it matter?  My classmates and I laughed and talked, lost in memories,  There was nostalgia and real joy, and yet all the talk seemed somehow laced with a nervous hum.  We were all standing on the edge of time, and we knew it.

The slights were recalled: the time I was left out of the pallet party, the way I always sat on the end when our group went to the movie, the fact that I never, never had a date, not even to the prom.  It didn’t matter.  Many dreams had been dashed, mine and theirs, sooner or later.  We had all suffered, and we would all suffer still more.  And each of us would die.  We had each had our little triumphs, our moments of joy.  Each had taken a.different path, some more exalted than others, and yet each had in common, this keen sense of mortality. We came together for this brief time, we touched, and all was forgiven. 

So you can’t go home again.  There’s no margin in doing so, for that home is frozen in time, is merely memory, and no longer exists, as soon as you step out of that page of your life.  You bring this new self, your changed self, back into that remembered time, and you smile.  You wish you had known then what you know now: we’re all afraid that we’re not enough.  In those trying high school years, each of us needed a little bit of kindness, some affirmation.  We still do.  It’s never too late.       

Students in the current graduating class of M.B.A. students at Harvard are being asked to sign on the dotted line–no, not for a fancy job that will bring in six figures–they are being asked by their peers to sign the “M.B.A. Oath,” a pledge to act responsibly and ethically and to refrain from advancing their “own narrow ambitions” at the expense of other people.  Seems simple enough.  Doctors have to sign a pledge saying that they will try to heal people.  Judges have to pledge that they will uphold the Constitution.  Ministers promise a variety of things, often including the exceedingly difficult one, “to speak the truth to power.”  But only a scant 20% of the Harvard M.B.A. class was willing to sign. 

The headline in the NY Times (5/30, p. B4) reads “A Promise to Be Ethical in an Era of Immorality,” and the writer seems to be impressed that all these young business people are signing such a vow.  I’m wondering about the other 80%–are they not planning to act responsibly and ethically?  Are they planning to advance their own narrow ambitions, in spite of who gets hurt?  If so, could we have the names of the non-signers?  They’ll probably be investing our retirement funds in a few short years.

When I read this article, I was reminded of a graduating law student, a member of First Unitarian Church, who told me some years ago that he had asked his fellow graduates to sign a pledge reading: “Before I take any job, I will ask myself whether or not this job contributes to the greater good.”  Note that the pledge doesn’t ask anyone to refuse a job that doesn’t contribute to the good, but merely to “ask myself” the question.  As I remember, seven law students agreed to sign.

So what’s going on?  Change is rearing its difficult head, and it’s going to take a while before ethical behavior becomes the norm in business, if it ever does.  But this is a new leaning in the right direction.  The norm can shift.  People will become ashamed of shoddy behavior  when enough of their compatriots clearly disapprove of such behavior instead of admiring it, if it makes a buck.

This is not to say that all business people are unethical and money-hungry–not at all.  And when I see a business like Neil Kelly or New Seasons and watch the values they operate by, I take hope for the future.  It’s just that they seem to be the exception and not the rule. 

Bruce Kogut, director of the Sanford C. Bernstein & Company Center for Leadership and Ethics, says that students are beginning to think about how they earn their income, not just how much.  (What a concept!)  He says,”They see inequities and the role of business of address them.”  I ask you, how could business students at a school this sophisticated not understand the role of business in addressing economic inequities?  Adam Smith understood something about the relationship of capitalism to community and the larger good–don’t Harvard M.B.A. students read Smith, like in the first semester of B school?

The fact is, though, it doesn’t matter what you read, or what your teachers say, if the cultural ethic is all about greed.  People will do what other people do, almost always.  Those who don’t, surprise us with their integrity. Change will come with leadership and education around these issues, and when the norm becomes service, these grads will want to serve.

Sleazy business practice will then become like smoking–you’ll have to leave the group and sneak around out back to do it.  I can hardly wait.

You know somebody like this.  I’m talking about a person who is consumed with anger about having been treated unjustly.  A  person who can think of little else but how to wreak revenge on the person or persons who caused his pain.  A person who talks about this injustice incessantly, and who can’t seem to get on with his life.  Now psychiatrists have named this quality and are saying that it is a bona fide mental illness–it is known as “embitterment.”  It could also be called “the Ahab Syndrome” for Melville’s Captain Ahab, who was willing to sacrifice his ship and his men to capture the white whale that had taken his leg. 

Dr. Michael Linden, the psychiatrist who named this behavior, says that people suffering from the syndrome are generally good people who have worked hard at something–such as a job or a relationship–and then suffer some unexpected loss.  They get fired.  Or the wife runs away with their best friend.  They turn into helpless victims and stay mired in their hate and aggression.  Linden says that these people rarely come in for treatment, because they feel that the problem is outside, in the world, not inside themselves.  “They are almost treatment-resistant,” he says.  “Revenge is not a treatment.”  (La/Times-Washington Post, 5/26)

The same day that I read the Post article reprinted in the Oregonian, I read another piece: it was the horrific story of a mother who picked up her two children, a daughter 7 and a son 4, from their father for a weekend parenting visit, and then forced the children off the Sellwood Bridge, apparently an act of revenge against her estranged husband.  (Oregonian, 5/27)  The little girl was saved only by the quick action of a stranger who heard the children scream.  The man, David Haag, went out in his boat, found the children in the water, and dived in after them. Haag said he thought the girl had been holding onto her little brother, for they were right together in the water.  But he could not save the boy, who was already dead.

I look at the picture of the mom on the front page of the paper–her name is Amanda Jo. She has long dark hair, disheveled now; a dazed look on her face, she looks almost like a child herself.  What could she have been thinking, to push her two babies off a bridge?  What could she have been feeling?

This mom had lost a custody battle for her children–this was the second time she had lost custody of a child, for this past February, the court ordered an older son, by a different man, to stay in the sole custody of his father.  I can only imagine that she might have felt helpless and hopeless.  And because she could not control the courts or her husband or her own out-of-control life, she exercised influence over others by hurting the children.  She had become truly mentally ill.  Her act was akin to the man who loses a job and then goes in and shoots up the office.  Or the man who shot people in a Nashville church because his estranged wife used to go there.  I’ve been treated unfairly, they say.  And somebody has to pay.

It should be said, however, that even though few people will kill to justify themselves, most of us have sucked on this bitter rag of revenge.  At some time or other, we will have been treated unfairly–by another person, by society, or just by the universe in general.  And this typically makes us very, very angry.  Generally time takes care of our bitter feelings, and we move on to more productive activity.  We forget.  We may even forgive.  We understand that justice is not something we can expect or demand, in this world. 

Speaking of justice, now–what would justice be for this woman?  What would you say, if you were on the jury?  What crime is more horrible than killing one’s own children?  What demons are at work within this woman?  Are they different from the ones at work in you and in me? 

I have no answers to these questions.  I am struck with the horror of the crime.  I wonder at the reaches of human pain, about the genesis of evil.   I acknowledge the darkness in myself and in all of us.

In my last reflection I commented on David Brooks’ recent review (5/14) of Josua Wolf Shenk’s essay “What Makes Us Happy,” found in the current issue (June 2009) of the Atlantic.  Brooks says that the researcher, George Vaillant, discovered through his longitudinal study of the lives of Harvard men that “the only thing that really matters in life are (sic) your relationships to other people.”  Brooks muses about Vaillant’s life, a life lacking in warm relationship and intimacy, and concludes, “Even when we know something, it is hard to make it so.”

I just read Shenk’s article and found it fascinating.  It was one of those on which I used a magic marker copiously.  Shenk gives summaries of various case studies throughout the article, and he also from time to time reports interesting conclusions which Vaillant came to during his intensive study.  A few of these are the following:

“. . . a glimpse of any one moment in a life can be deeply misleading.  A man at 20 who appears the model of altruism may turn out to be a kind of emotional prodigy–or he may be ducking . . . <a> kind of engagement with reality. . . ; on the other extreme, a man at 20 who appears impossibly wounded may turn out to be gestating toward maturity.”

“. . . mature adaptations are a real-life alchemy, a way of turning the dross of emotional crises, pain, and deprivation into the gold of human connection, accomplishment, and creativity.”

He sites the seven major factors that predict healthy aging, both physically and psychologically: employing mature adaptations, education, stable marriage, not smoking, not abusing alcohol, some exercise, and healthy weight.

But at no place was Vaillant more powerful and articulate, says Shenk, than when he describes the significance of love and intimacy in our lives.  Vaillant was asked in an interview in March 2008, “What have you learned from the Grant Study men?”  Vaillant responded: “That the only thing that really matters in life are your relationships to other people.”

Perhaps Vaillant was so keenly aware of the importance of relationship because his life has always been fraught with such difficulty in that arena.  So how is it that someone can know so much and yet find it so difficult to put into practice what he clearly understands?  Vaillant answers this question in a profound and moving statement in his book Adaptation to Life. Speaking of his male subjects not from a scientific, but more from a philosophical or even theological perspective, he writes: “Their lives were too human for science, too beautiful for numbers, too sad for diagnosis and too immortal for bound journals.”

So yes, the process of learning to be fully human, the process of learning to love openly and deeply, is in the final analysis, a mystery.  We don’t understand why we do what we do, or why we fail sometimes to become what we most earnestly desire to become. 

However, in my last reflection I did promise you an answer, and an answer I will give.  Love is the most powerful force that exists, and love can be taught.  It is best taught in the first 18 months of a child’s life, and if a child is separated from mother during those years for any reason, or if a child is abused, or if a child is with parents who cannot for whatever reason nurture the child, then learning love later in life will prove difficult.  But except in the most profound cases of deprivation, it will not prove impossible. 

People who need to learn about love can do so by being with people who know how to love, in community and in intimate places in their lives.  Often helpers are needed–skilled psychotherapists for sure, spiritual advisors, massage therapists, yoga teachers, etc., etc.  A loving community is essential.  In the best of all worlds, the love-deprived person will be able at some point to enter into a long-term, intimate relationship with someone who is good at loving and who will love the person exactly as he or she is. 

Is there any guarantee?  In this world, there never is.  We just don’t know.  But we can do our best to increase the odds.  We can love, and we can reach out for love.  In the end, we’ll find that Vaillant is right–it’s all that matters. 

I was fascinated by David Brooks’ editorial (NYTimes 5/12, A23) on an article entitled “What Makes Us Happy?” by Joshua Wolf Shenk, to be published in this next issue of the Atlantic.  In short, the article (now available on line) describes a longitudinal study done by one George Vaillant over a 42-year period on a group of 268 of the most promising young men of the Harvard class of 1942.  Among them were John F. Kennedy and Ben Bradlee. 

These young men were the creme de la creme: they were intelligent, sophisticated, advantaged in every way.  They had been selected from the rest of the entering class because they were considered the most well adjusted.  Since they were college sophomores, they have been visited by researchers regularly and studied in every aspect of their living.  The results are known as the Grant Study, and they are summarized in Shenk’s article, which I have not as yet had a chance to read–but eagerly await.

Judging from their privileged beginnings, one might expect that these men would grow into highly successful, happy individuals.  The life stories, however, show quite a different outcome.  Brooks points out that one third of the men ended up suffering at least one bout of mental illness.  Many would be plagued with alcoholism.  A few, understandably, could never admit that they were gay, until they were of an advanced age. Brooks is struck, he says, by “the baffling variety of their lives.”  What causes us to make certain decisions, to follow life-giving as opposed to destuctive paths?  And a man who seems to do well in one phase of his life might just fall apart in the next phase.  Why?

The study apparently produced some correlations.  Correlations don’t prove, but they do suggest.  The men by and large did better as they aged.  Those who suffered from depression were much more likely to be dead by their early 60′s.  But it’s George Valliant’s final conclusion that is the most profound and the most instructive to us all.  In a video he says, “Happiness is love.  Full Stop.”

Ironically enough, love always seemed to elude Valliant himself, Brooks reports.  When he was 10, his father, who seemed successful and content, shot himself beside the family pool.  The mother removed the children from the house, and Valliant never saw the house again.  There was no memorial service.  Valliant married three times, returning then to his second wife.  For long periods he was estranged from his children.

Brooks concludes, poignantly, “Even when we know something, it is hard to make it so.”

Yes, this is true.  But I have a response to this statement.  Stay tuned for my next reflection.