Subtle Character, Brilliant Example

You are all a Lost Generation…

Gertrude Stein said that of a war-weary generation who had had their faiths shaken by a terrible and devastating war. We are on the verge of a lost generation ourselves, though not because of a Great War, but rather because of the lack of one.

Sure, we are in the midst of a Great Conflict of Our Time. But I think it’s safe to say that many in our country are, by and large, quite insulated from that conflict, particularly when compared to previous such wars. The war and struggle of which I speak is something much more ordinary than that. And, as it’s more ordinary, it is, in fact, more fundamental. It’s a struggle as simple as facing down a pitcher or a bully or a driveway full of snow.

I’m not talking about chores or rites of passage, however. This is about pain, pure and simple. For in a sense, we are the sum of our struggles. More correctly, we are what we build of ourselves, in spite of and because of our struggles. But then, that’s so obvious that it was long ago summed up as one word: Character.

An instructor of a refresher course I took began by asking some questions of the class – very simple ones, the answers to which we all knew that we knew once, and should probably have still known. His rather embarrassing point was that knowledge is volatile. You have to use and refresh what you’ve got between your ears, or even the simplest of skills disappear. As with mental fitness, so with physical fitness; of that, I’m sure we can all attest. I know that my mile time isn’t what it used to be, precisely because I haven’t spent the time and effort to keep it up (or rather, down). Finally, as goes physical strength, so goes moral strength. Like fundamental learning and mile times, character is a volatile thing; if you aren’t given, or don’t take the opportunities to build it, it’s not there when you need it.

Let’s take these comparisons a bit further: Survival, in its simplest sense, requires and ability to comprehend the world around us, and an ability to alter the world around us. But there’s a third component – a “something” to tie the knowledge to the action. That something we can, and do, call character. It’s easy to miss because it’s so obvious and natural; our knowledge comes from and our actions work upon a world foreign and distinct from ourselves, while character is within, and necessarily indistinct from Self. Plato compared the relationship between the three to the head, stomach, and heart. After recognizing this, he sought to strengthen all three appetites in his Academy. Even his model Republic was designed around these three attitudes and aptitudes of human nature.

Enough of the vague and incomplete lesson in philosophical history. What we’re looking for is something more sublime than even Plato; after all, recall that we hardly register character in our own existence, unless we specifically look for it. There is no need for an Academy, which was but a shadow on the cave wall with respect to the other catalysts of growth for the three attributes. Intelligence, strength, and will all obviously predated any formal attempts to improve upon them. Before Roger Bannister, before Gertrude Stein, before Plato, we were all children. And therein lies the truth. Naturally, babies kick to gain strength to stand. Also, they seek to use every method, from their newly-focusing eyes to their hands to their gums, to begin to understand the world around them. Young children run and play to achieve both ends. And there it is – in the absence of outside influences to grow and increase our knowledge and strength, we do it ourselves anyway. What that shows us about character, however, isn’t as cute as a smiling baby or a tractor in a sandbox.

There is a paradox to all this: the natural growth of the “external” attributes, strength and knowledge, comes from an individual’s actions, while the “internal” attribute, character, is grown by external influences. In other words, Life is Tough, and if it weren’t, what we are wouldn’t be.

Let us not forget the lesson of the baby, kicking his legs and gnawing on his toes – growth happens. It is instinctual. The same is true of character. If life is made too easy, be it through sheltering, overprotection, or just plain laziness, by others, by ourselves, or by technology, the instinctual drive will be to make things tougher somehow. In today’s world, the greatest extremes of that manifest themselves in more and more common forms of increasingly self-destructive behavior. In other words, by denying ourselves or others one form of pain, the result may well be taking on a greater and more dangerous form of it.

This brings us back to the Lost Generation. American civilization is more cosmopolitan, more wealthy, and more secure than any other society in history. To that end, generations of Americans have sacrificed and suffered through war and depression, and tamed new frontiers as each came within reach. Today’s generations reap the bountiful harvest of their forbears. As a result, the pains that have shaped those generations are easy to avoid, if they’re relevant at all.

I don’t mean to find fault in avoiding pain. There clearly isn’t anything wrong with sharing in the above-mentioned harvest. It does become a problem, however, when we over-indulge in the feast. As that excessive avoidance of struggle becomes easier to do, it becomes more prevalent. As a result, in our modern comforts we raise generations having never received the most basic lessons of character.

Recall that when we don’t have normal means to build character, we find our own. This of course gives us a window to understanding the dire reports from our schools – tales of violence, substance abuse, promiscuity, self-mutilation, and other terrible problems. The term for the “socially acceptable” among these has been there for decades – we call it “finding yourself.” Sometimes these rough roads lead back to the knowledge that one was never missing but for one’s wanderings, but, more often, it leads down darker paths, if it leads anywhere at all.

What can we do about that? How can we save such lost generations? The ways are simple and numerous, which is part of the problem. It’s so easy to overlook the little pain, the smallest building blocks of character, and so easy to avoid them all together, that we pass them by without a second thought. It follows that we have to accept a new outlook, so that a first look is all that is needed. It begins with not fearing the suffering. We can no longer be afraid of suffering long, and we must respect and learn from those who have. As self-evident as that is, more importantly we cannot fear for the younger generations’ getting a little muddy or even breaking their arms. Neither can we fear the life-changes of adulthood and beyond for ourselves. These are not easy fears to ignore, which is why it’s vital that we make the attempt. For in doing so, we implicitly accept the smaller fears and pains; which in turn gives greater strength of character to accept still more difficult challenges. As such, this is a self-catalytic process. Let us all take up this path, so that we find a lost generation – and ourselves- already at home.


Addendum: Over the past few weeks, it seems the nation has proceeded from one mortal watch to what appears to be the next. In the former, partisan sides argued over whether a woman (and, in turn, a person), would abide great suffering, and, in the absence of an answer, whether to end the suffering or to care for it was the greater end. But in this latter vigil, all have paused to pay their respects to a man who not only answered that question long ago, but also a man whom we have seen live it.

While the point has been made that suffering is an end for our character, Pope John Paul II has shown us that it is all the greater as a gift unto others. In his person, all hearts have been opened to the frail and infirm and suffering faceless among us. In the news watch of this vigil, we live as one people the pain each has felt in watching a loved one slip away. Most of all, we have seen a man face great suffering and frustration with serenity and welcoming joy, that we all may be less afraid of our own uncertain futures. For, by the Holy Father’s life and final example, our futures are not for us, but are greatest when devoted to each other.