Even within the tradition of moral realism, there are many differences of temperament, technique, tactics, and taste. Two people who both subscribe to the “crooked timber” view may approach specific questions in different ways. Should you stay in your suffering or move on from it as soon as possible? Should you keep a journal to maximize self-awareness, or does that just lead to paralyzing self-consciousness and self-indulgence? Should you be reticent or expressive? Should you take control of your own life or surrender it to God’s grace?
Even within the same moral ecology, there’s a lot of room for each person to chart a unique path. But each of the lives in this book started with a deep vulnerability, and undertook a lifelong effort to transcend that vulnerability. Johnson was fragmented and storm-tossed. Rustin was hollow and promiscuous. Marshall was a fearful boy. Eliot was desperate for affection. And yet each person was redeemed by that weakness. Each person struggled against that weakness and used that problem to grow a beautiful strength. Each person traveled down into the valley of humility in order to ascend to the heights of tranquillity and self-respect.
Stumblers
The good news of this book is that it is okay to be flawed, since everyone is. Sin and limitation are woven through our lives. We are all stumblers, and the beauty and meaning of life are in the stumbling—in recognizing the stumbling and trying to become more graceful as the years go by.
The stumbler scuffs through life, a little off balance here and there, sometimes lurching, sometimes falling to her knees. But the stumbler faces her imperfect nature, her mistakes and weaknesses, with unvarnished honesty, with the opposite of squeamishness. She is sometimes ashamed of the perversities in her nature—the selfishness, the self-deceit, the occasional desire to put lower loves above higher ones.
But humility offers self-understanding. When we acknowledge that we screw up, and feel the gravity of our limitations, we find ourselves challenged and stretched with a serious foe to overcome and transcend.
The stumbler is made whole by this struggle. Each weakness becomes a chance to wage a campaign that organizes and gives meaning to life and makes you a better person. We lean on each other as we struggle against sin. We depend on each other for the forgiveness of sin. The stumbler has an outstretched arm, ready to receive and offer care. He is vulnerable enough to need affection and is generous enough to give affection at full volume. If we were without sin, we could be solitary Atlases, but the stumbler requires a community. His friends are there with conversation and advice. His ancestors have left him diverse models that he can emulate and measure himself by.
From the smallness of her own life, the stumbler commits herself to ideas and faiths that are nobler than any individual ever could be. She doesn’t always live up to her convictions or follow her resolutions. But she repents and is redeemed and tries again, a process that gives dignity to her failing. The victories follow the same arc: from defeat to recognition to redemption. Down into the valley of vision and then up into the highlands of attachment. The humble path to the beautiful life.
Each struggle leaves a residue. A person who has gone through these struggles seems more substantial and deep. And by a magic alchemy these victories turn weakness into joy. The stumbler doesn’t aim for joy. Joy is a byproduct experienced by people who are aiming for something else. But it comes.
There’s joy in a life filled with interdependence with others, in a life filled with gratitude, reverence, and admiration. There’s joy in freely chosen obedience to people, ideas, and commitments greater than oneself. There’s joy in that feeling of acceptance, the knowledge that though you don’t deserve their love, others do love you; they have admitted you into their lives. There’s an aesthetic joy we feel in morally good action, which makes all other joys seem paltry and easy to forsake.
People do get better at living, at least if they are willing to humble themselves and learn. Over time they stumble less, and eventually they achieve moments of catharsis when outer ambition comes into balance with inner aspiration, when there is a unity of effort between Adam I and Adam II, when there is that ultimate tranquillity and that feeling of flow—when moral nature and external skills are united in one defining effort.
Joy is not produced because others praise you. Joy emanates unbidden and unforced. Joy comes as a gift when you least expect it. At those fleeting moments you know why you were put here and what truth you serve. You may not feel giddy at those moments, you may not hear the orchestra’s delirious swell or see flashes of crimson and gold, but you will feel a satisfaction, a silence, a peace—a hush. Those moments are the blessings and the signs of a beautiful life.
To my parents,
Lois and Michael Brooks
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Anne C. Snyder was there when this book was born and walked with me through the first three years of its writing. This was first conceived as a book about cognition and decision making. Under Anne’s influence, it became a book about morality and inner life. She led dozens of discussions about the material, assigned me reading from her own bank of knowledge, challenged the superficiality of my thinking in memo after memo, and transformed the project. While I was never able to match the lyricism of her prose, or the sensitivity of her observations, I have certainly stolen many of her ideas and admired the gracious and morally rigorous way she lives her life. If there are any important points in this book, they probably come from Anne.
April Lawson came in for the final eighteen months of this effort. She is the editor of my newspaper column and brought that same astounding judgment to this manuscript. I may come to understand many things about life, but I will never understand how one so young can possess so much mature and considered wisdom, can understand so much about other people’s lives, and can offer such bold and useful suggestions.
Campbell Schnebly-Swanson was a student of mine at Yale who helped with the final research, fact checking, and thinking. She is a tornado of insights, judgments, and enthusiasms. Her reactions sharpened this text, and her research infuses these pages. I wait with a sort of awed anticipation to see what kind of mark she leaves on the world.
For three years, I have taught a course at Yale University loosely based on some of the ideas here. My students there have wrestled with this topic alongside of me, and offered immeasurable insights, both in the classroom and at the bar of The Study Hotel. They’ve made the first two days of every week unbelievably fun. I’d especially like to thank my Yale colleagues Jim Levinsohn, John Gaddis, Charles Hill, and Paul Kennedy for welcoming me into their midst. Another Yale professor, Bryan Garsten, read a large chunk of the manuscript and helped clarify and deepen the thinking here. Large faculty groups at Yale and at Wheaton College heard me out and offered feedback and advice.
Will Murphy and I have worked on two books now for Random House. He is as supportive an editor as it is possible to imagine. I am the rare author who has nothing but good things to say about his publishing house. I’ve been fortunate to be writing for an enthusiastic, professional, and supportive team, especially London King, this book’s lead publicist, who is as good at her job as anyone I’ve worked with. Cheryl Miller helped me early on to conceive the project and select the characters. Catherine Katz and Lauren Davis filled in with vital research and advice.
Many friends deserve my gratitude, acknowledgment, and devotion. Blair Miller read through everything, hunted for a less-than-awful title, encouraged me when that was needed, and offered advice and wisdom, large and small. Blair is an astonishing judge and connector of people and ideas. She did her best to help me tie the larger moral issues to the problems people face in the real world every day. In her own work, Blair serves the world, and the poorest people in the world, in a way that is practical and also idealistic, dignified but also joyful. She encouraged me to try to make this book of use to people, to make it not just a philosophical or sociological ramble, but an act of service.