All of us are endowed with different temperaments. Some people are brooding and grim; others are upbeat and deal with life’s problems like water falling off the proverbial duck’s back. Some of us are optimistic and buoyant; while for others nothing can ever be good. Some people inject themselves into all of life’s problems and are overly ponderous and self-referencing, while others seem to be unburdened by a sense of self. There is a broad spectrum of human temperaments, with innumerable subdivisions between whatever poles we place on either end.
Temperament seems to be our possession from birth and it is the basic canvass on which our life stories are drawn. I, for one, don’t think that our temperament changes much in life, nor is it very amenable, I believe, to psychological analysis and explanation. Description, yes; analysis, no. Temperament is just the way we are; it is the hand which we are dealt, and comprises the psychological raw material out of which we mold our lives.
Temperamentally, I veer toward the introspective end of the spectrum. I believe life is complex, and often demands from us reflection and deliberation, not solely for practical reasons to ensure our success, but because I have come to believe that reflection and deliberation is part of the warp and woof of what makes life meaningful — whether we succeed or fail, whether we find happiness or not. John Stuart Mill, who was no doubt of an introspective temperament, once observed that it is better to be a Socrates dissatisfied than a contented pig. Mill believed that mindless, mere sensate gratification misses the point of what it means to be human. It’s not worthy of us. Not everyone would, of course, agree. But I understand what Mill was getting at, and temperamentally I think he was right.
Because I believe life is complex, I tend to spurn easy answers to life’s problems. I have an aversion to the neatly packaged pearls of wisdom that seem so much part of today’s pop psychology and New Age sensibilities. I don’t believe that resolution to life’s challenges can be reduced to emotionally captivating, but intellectually shallow, slogans, or articulated steps, be they seven or twelve, or whatever. Life is simply not reducible to rules or formulas. At best, statements of pithy wisdom, or quotable quotes, do not so much resolve life’s problems, but are points which can stimulate reflection, and from which we can bit to stitch together associations that may be relevant to our condition.
Despite these disclaimers, one of my favorite snippets of wisdom is also a popular favorite. It has long been the mantra of Alcoholics Anonymous, but continues to be invoked in many places and by many different people around the world. Though it is called by different names and appears in several variations, the saying I am referring to is most often referred to as the Serenity Prayer, and it’s original and complete wording is as follows:
God give us grace
to accept with serenity
the things that cannot be changed,
courage to change the things
that should be changed,
and the wisdom to distinguish
the one from the other.
People often assume that the authorship of the Serenity Prayer is ancient. Perhaps, some speculate that it is of rabbinic origins, or was first cmposed in Hebrew or Latin. Perhaps it was written by some ancient Stoic philosopher. Or maybe its author, like so many seemingly eternal kernels of wisdom, was simply anonymous.
Actually, none of the above is true. The Serenity Prayer was composed by the 20th century Protestant theologian, Reinhold Niebuhr, in 1943.
Perhaps, like many others, I find the Serenity Prayer appealing because it implicitly acknowledges the complexity, the push and pull, indeed the ambiguity of life. Without further analysis it recognizes both the reality of human power and its limitations, while acknowledging that knowing what is in our power and what is beyond our power is often not very clear to us. In this sense, the Serenity Prayer in its elegant brevity recognizes both the nobility and the humility of the human condition.
In the briefest way, the Serenity Prayer encapsulates the complex and penetrating philosophy of its author. Reinhold Niebuhr was one of the intellectual giants of the 20th century. Niebuhr flourished from the late 20s through post-War years, and centered his career around Union Theological Seminary in New York. Niebuhr passionately believed that religion had to be invested in the issues of the day, which in his time meant the struggle against fascism and anti-Semitism, and for racial and economic justice. Niebuhr, who had been a founder of Americans for Democratic Action, represented the best of the progressive Protestant tradition in American life.
Though Niebuhr was, needless to say a theist, his philosophy of life in some ways parallels that of our own Felix Adler, especially as Adler worked out his philosophy in his later years.
In my address in March, I mentioned that Adler was much taken with the tension between the Ideal and the actual, that is the finite world in which we human beings live out our lives. It was Adler’s view that in our efforts to emulate the ideal, we inevitably fall short. That which we long and strive for by necessity exceeds our grasp. Consequently frustration, indeed tragedy, is built into the human experience. Frustration and tragedy, Adler affirmed, is built into the human condition, and there is no way we can be done out of it. For both Adler and Niebuhr, our individual lives and the life of society are played out between the ideal which we can never reach, and the frustration that inevitably comes from trying to attain the ideal.
We usually compare the social thought of Felix Adler to that of the great humanist thinker, John Dewey. Indeed, one could argue that the movement that Adler created readily appropriated the philosophy of John Dewey as Adler passed from the scene. Both Adler and Dewey were social reformers and apostles of democracy Both were progressives and preached a philosophy of the active life. Both philosophers had a social and communal vision of the human being, whereby the individual truly comes into himself through active engagement with the life of the community on which he depends. Both Adler and Dewey had their own ethical theories that had much in common. Both were progressive educators. Both taught at ColumbiaUniversity’s philosophy department. Though Adler was a philosophical Idealist and Dewey a naturalist, in practical and political terms their philosophies greatly overlapped.
One of the most fascinating intellectual debates of the mid-20th century took place between Reinhold Niebuhr at Union Theological Seminary, and John Dewey at Columbia’s philosophy department. It was a debate that took place across Broadway, and had to do with the nature of liberalism. Both Dewey and Niebuhr were liberals who generally respected each other and at times worked together on shared projects. But their respective understandings of liberalism, and consequently of human nature, were very different.
In briefest terms, Dewey believed that society and the human condition could incrementally improve, if human beings would develop the habits of what Dewey referred to “creative intelligence” and apply it to social problems. Dewey believed that reason and science, which have been so successful in harnessing nature for the sake of human benefit could be employed via the social sciences, including education, to steadily overcome the nagging problems which plague humankind. For Dewey, there were no cosmic problems or which stood in the way of improving human society. In short, Dewey was optimistic about the human prospect.
While he could not doubt John Dewey’s brilliance, Niebuhr believed that Dewey’s optimism and those like him were very naïve. Niebuhr, like Dewey, believed that we must strive for justice, but unlike Dewey, he didn’t think that we should fool ourselves by believing that that we could actually achieve very much of it. While Niebuhr agreed there is no doubt that reason had science have been masterful in controlling nature outside of us for our benefit, when we apply reason and science to ourselves in the form of the social sciences, what Niebuhr believed Dewey overlooked was the reality of egoism, of selfishness, of self-interest, which serves to impede and block any significant advances in the human condition. We may strive to improves society, but humankind’s negative motivations, conscious, or unconscious, insinuate themselves to thwart any consistent progress. Niebuhr referred to this frustrating propensity in human beings, tagged to their unavoidable self-interest, as “original sin.” Dewey, humanist that he was, simply believed that the problem with sin, was not its existence, but that people like Niebuhr continued to believe that it was And so this debate, between the optimistic humanist and somber realist went on across Broadway for decades.
When I read the serenity prayer, especially the line that invokes the grace to accept with serenity “the things that cannot be changed” I recall that basic to Niebuhr’s view is that there are limits and fixed points in life, which we are better off accepting with serenity than foolishly and wastefully attempting to change.
This realization hit home to me more than 35 years ago when I was in training to become an Ethical Culture leader. My mentor was Dr. Horace Friess, who had founded the religion department atColumbia, where he taught fro decades. Horace was not only Felix Adler’s son-in-law, he was also a colleague of both John Dewey and Reinhold Niebuhr. I remember one afternoon, when alone with Dr. Friess, he was explaining to me a problem that was expressive of the Byzantine politics of the New York Society. With a sense of impatience which was no doubt reflective of the impetuousness of youth, my youth, I said “It seems to me, Dr. Friess, that you are describing a vicious circle” My attitude conveyed to him that vicious circles are by their nature intolerable and are problems that need to be vanquished, perhaps right away. His response to me was “Yes, Joe. There are many vicious circles in life.” What for me was a circumstance that had to gotten rid of, for him, 50 years my senior, was simply an aspect of life and reality that needs to be acknowledged and accepted. Vicious circles are built into reality no less than the stars above or the Rocky Mountains. They are part of the landscape. That brief encounter, was for me a type of illumination, that suggested that sun will rise tomorrow even if I don’t pick up a sword to overcome every problem, champion every cause or slay every dragon. It was step along the way toward my maturation.
But let’s look at the Serenity Prayer more closely to see what gold we can mine from it. The first thing we notice is that it is a prayer. It is a supplication to a transcendent power greater than ourselves. For humanists this presents a problem, but not an insurmountable one. We can readily understand prayer, as deeply reflective, introspection and meditation. Though the prayer references God, it still works for humanists, if we understand God, not as anthropomorphic Deity outside of us, but as the inner powers we possess that that can enable us to grow beyond our currently restricted sense of ourselves. All of us can grow in our capacities for love, compassion patience and our generosity.
The serenity prayer, does not appeal directly for the serenity to accept what we cannot change. Rather it petitions the forces that be for the grace to be able to do so. The meaning of grace, even for traditional believers, is not altogether clear. We get the sense of an inner disposition, a freedom, a gift of the spirit which is the precondition that enables to fulfill our wishes and to begin to achieve what it is we long to do. Humanist that I am, I do not believe in grace emerging from a spiritual realm beyond this world. But, at the same time, I do believe that our emotional lives are subject to inner forces, of which I am not fully conscious, that enable me to feel emotionally unburdened and inwardly free, at least relatively speaking, and which at other times greatly restrict my inner range of emotional activity. Call them moods, call them dispositions, call them the tides of emotion, we tend at times to more emotionally open and free than at other times. The desire to be serene is simply not something we can achieve by willing it alone. A disposition, not totally under our control needs to be in place, and we can refer to that underlying disposition as a type of grace.
“To accept with serenity the things we cannot change.” What is that we cannot change? Certainly we cannot change the past. How much of our energy is expended on useless regret, shame, excessive guilt and self-condemnation based on things we have done in years past? Is there a person alive who doesn’t regret having done something really foolish as teenager, and which still haunts them? How many people lacerate themselves over having hurt a friend, or someone else, whom they didn’t mean to hurt? How many people walk around haunted by foolish mistakes believing that when they came to a crossroads in life they went one way, when they should have gone another, thereby compounding their error with feelings of self-loathing.
When it comes to having hurt others, we may to some extent be able to alter how we feel about the past by seeking forgiveness, but we cannot change the past itself, and persisting in self-condemnation over it, impedes any possibility of achieving peace of mind
What this verse also suggests is the sublime realization that attends what I like to call “Stoic resignation.” The reality of the human condition is that human powers are very finite. Nature is infinite in its power, we are not, and nature will have the last word. There is time to struggle and there is a time to give up the struggle. To refuse to do so when circumstances call for it is to make the arrogant and misguided assessment that human powers are infinite.
Nowhere is Stoic resignation more apt than in our encounter with death. Death, though unpleasant to countenance, is an unavoidable fact of life and of nature. I have seen a pattern many times, with members and others who were in their last days and months. At first, there is a totally rational and biologically-impelled to effort to do whatever one can to extend life. But then a point is reached, where further care becomes futile. The person senses, consciously and subconsciously, that the time has come to choose to give up the struggle, and so give himself or herself over to the inevitability of death. Though the literal battle is lost, it is not being euphemistic to say that a type of spiritual victory has been won. I personally have been able to witness people who have faced their death with this sense of serenity emerging from a thoroughgoing ability to accept its inevitability.
To engage in struggle one minute, and shift to stance of Stoic resignation the next, is not to embrace contradictory approaches or behaviors. This is so because the ability to yield the struggle is predicated on having initially engaged it. It is almost a seamless process. I cannot reach a point of resignation and acceptance unless I have first engage in the struggle and push tit until it has run its course.
I believe there is some something elegant, dignified and mature in being able to accept what we cannot change. t is also a hallmark of maturity. There is a certain paradox here that is revealed in growing up and growing older. The older we become the greater our powers are to change the world around us, but the more cognizant we become as to how limited our powers really are; how acceptance of things as they are is often the wiser, more elegant and for more realistic course.
I cannot resist a political observation – which is totally appropriate since Reinhold Niebuhr’s prayer was meant to apply to the political realm as much as to the personal. The recent Terri Schiavo tragedy is both frightening and upsetting for many reasons. Beyond the ideology and politics of the incident, which should send shudders down the spine of any freedom loving person, were the religious values in which name this crusade was carried on. The position that Terri Shiavo’s feeding tube needed to remain in place to preserve life, or to sustain a “culture of life,” because religious values demand it is to reduce religion to flat-footed rules and dogma. It is to drain religion of any subtlety, compassion, dignity or spiritual sensitivity. In my view, it is immature religion, as so much of religion espoused by the right is these days. It is despiritualized and immature expressly because it fails to recognize and accept the inevitability of death. In essence, Terri Schivo had died 15 years ago. The refusal to recognize that fact by the hordes who signed on to this crusade does not make them more righteous or more life affirming, but much less so. But framing their position as “pro-life” the religious right has craftily implied that all who disagree are therefore “pro-death.” It is politically cunning, but factually wrong. To remove Terri’s feeding tube, was to affirm the value of a person’s choice over life’s most difficult and private issues. It is to sustain her dignity. And in accordance with the religious position I am putting forward it is to sublimely recognize that try as we will death is inevitable, and to continue to keep her body artificially alive, 15 years after her mind had died, is to fail to recognize the limitations of the human condition and of human powers. It feels almost like a type of idolatry, which runs counter to what religion should be about in the most sublime and spiritual sense. In short, again, there is grace and dignity, maturity and spiritual elegance in knowing when to quit, because reality so requires it.
“The courage to change the things that should be changed.” Notice the word “should”. I like that because it suggests that there are many things that I could change, but ought not to waste my time and energy on. We need to partialize and channel our resources toward what really counts, and not feel that we need to engage and waste our energies on those things that are of meager consequence or importance. There is something grown-up about that also. By directing ourselves toward those things that should be changed, Niebuhr, is exhorting us toward those things that are morally significant.
By this exhortation, Niebuhr is suggesting that we can and should positively assert our energies in the service of altering unjust conditions. One thinks of the civil rights movement, of those myriad political initiatives and struggles that deserve our best efforts. We need to be actors in this world to make it a morally better place. To fail to do so, to look the other way when we are called to justice is to that extent to forfeit our humanity. Recognizing the stultifying and paralyzing effects of fear, we often need courage to help us rise above our fears to enable us to do the right thing.
The final refrain, “the wisdom to distinguish the one from the other” is probably the most difficult of all. Trying to discern what we can change, and what we cannot, and therefore need to accept, often places us in a gray zone. Some things are pretty clear. As mentioned, we are not going to live forever. I am not going to sprout wing and fly away no matter how hard I try. But other things, especially as regards my own internal capacity for change, are much more difficult to know. At what point do I cease attempting to master tennis, or music, and accept myself for who I am, recognizing that mastering those skills are truly beyond me. How do I relate to my efforts to be a more patient person or a more generous one. Should I ever give up on the possibilities of ethical growth and improvement? Perhaps not. Perhaps I need to engage in the artful effort of self-acceptance, while continuing to strive to grow at the same time. Perhaps when it comes to changing ourselves morally, the line between self-acceptance and continuing to struggle for self-improvement is never clear: That we need, somewhat paradoxically, to engage both at the same time. In the social sphere, how much should I strive to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped? And when should I give up? How much energy should I put into a cause that seems incorrigible? And how do I know it is incorrigible? These are difficult questions that often elude clear answers.
But whatever the case, the wisdom which the Serenity Prayer commends, and which we seldom can be certain about, can best emerge through a sensitivity to life’s experiences. It can only emerge through the process of trial and error as we engage life, and are attuned to our experiences and strive to learn something from them. Wisdom is partially a gift, and an act of grace. But much more than that it is a strength that we can cultivate by being open to life’s experiences, by confidently asserting ourselves against the challenges that confront us, and by humbly coming to terms with our limitations.
We live in difficult times, times which call for our active engagement with the world around us. These are fractured times, in which we face new threats, in which the public and political discourse seems far courser and less civil than it has been within our memories. Trust and kindness in the public sphere are difficult to come by, and these realities in the outer no doubt affect our inner lives. Perhaps these times more than most require of us the courage to change things that should be changed, to accept with serenity those we can’t, and if we are to pass through this life with our dignity intact, the wisdom to discern the difference.
Dr. Joseph Chuman
May, 2005