Randy Greenwald

I’m not sure why the following counsel (complete content here) appeals to me. There is a part of me that wants to point fingers at those who fail to heed it. But there is another part of me that knows I am the one who needs to have such wisdom always before me.

In short, the wisdom is as follows:

1. Don’t write things about people you’d be afraid to tell them in person.

This is, of course, particularly true in the digital age. It is just as wise to assume that anything you might say publicly will eventually end up in the hands of the one about whom you have spoken or written.

Related is this:

2. Be willing to encounter people you’ve criticized.

If we keep this in mind, we will seek to keep our criticism at a level that is rational, temperate, and respectful.

That this latter piece of advice comes from a young Ralph Nadar should take nothing away from it.

Once early in my ministry, a difficult letter had to be written to a person in the church. One of the elders wisely counseled me to write the letter but to not send it. Rather, he said, deliver it. Speak its content face to face. To hide behind the typewriter was a coward’s way of dealing with conflict.

Digital communication makes it easier for me to be a coward. Loving our neighbor does not mean that we must be silent unless we are face to face with them – face-on communication is not always possible. But love for neighbor does mean that we should never speak about someone in a way that we would not be willing to speak were they sitting across the table from us.

Writer Joyce Carol Oates, wrote recently an essay about her conflicted struggle to accept widowhood after the sudden death of her husband. It is a wonderful piece.

One of the tasks she faced was that of cleaning up the aftermath of her husband’s editorial work on the Ontario Review. The pile of submitted stories all had to receive ‘rejection’ notices since the publication was shutting down.

In communicating this, she wanted to find some way to encourage these young writers.

“Even in my numbed state I feel an impulse to encourage writers, or anyway a wish not to discourage them. Thinking It would have meant something to me, years ago.

I think I would like someone like this who, even in her sorrow, is thinking of others.

But her concern for these up and coming writers runs deeper than this. She senses that what these writers are seeking in their writing is significance, purpose, a sense of place. Her trauma has brought everything into perspective. She continues:

“Though nothing means much to me, now. The possibility of being ‘encouaged’ has become abstract and theoretical to me — ‘encouraged’ for what purpose?

Your writing will not save you. Managing to be published – by Ontario Review Press! – will not save you. Don’t be deluded.“

This is so poignant and so true. We fix our eyes upon a goal and think that if we only achieve that goal, we will be important, we will find significance, we will finally find meaning.

And we do, for a time.

But this voice of wisdom, loss, and reality says, “Your writing (marriage, business, childbearing, religion, morality) will not save you.”

Worth pondering.

Last week sometime, the Orlando Sentinel ran a story about a cosmetic surgeon who will help you if you would like to trade in your current nose for Nicole Kidman’s.

The surgeon featured in the article advises his patients to bring a loved one with them to an initial consultation. It helps, he believes, to have the support of family.

That is all very wise. But a quote extracted from the text and made prominent at the top of the page did grab my attention.

This “face-altering” surgeon is quoted as saying:

“Four ears are better than two.”

For a brief moment I wondered if this were some strange new fad.