I Shall Call Him, Mini-Me
In a world driven by fear, there is one thing I need not worry about: it seems pretty clear my mom was not diddling the milkman.
You are currently browsing the archives for the day Wednesday, September 9th, 2009.
Umm, yeeaaahhhh…
This guy is currently making one of the best shows on TV even better. He’s had great roles in countless movies since 1999. And yet…
He will always be Bill Lumberg.
End of story.
Posted 10 months, 3 weeks ago at 9:33 am.
Goodwill
I am speaking for Goodwill Industries in a couple weeks and have been brainstorming on what “goodwill” really is. While thinking on this— on the ideas of love and service and self-sacrifice— I recalled a really good passage from Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov. So I leafed through my copy and realized just how insightful the scene really is. Listen to this:
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“I shut my eyes and ask myself, ‘Would you persevere long on that path [of love]? And if the patient whose wounds you are washing did not meet you with gratitude, but worried you with his whims, without valuing or remarking on your charitable services, began abusing you and rudely commanding you, and complaning to the superior authorities of you (which often happens when people are in great suffering)— what then? Would you persevere in your love or not?’ And do you know, I came with horror to the conclusion that, if anything could dissipate my love to humanity, it would be ingratitude. In short, I am a hired servant, I expect my payment at once— that is, praise and the repayment of love with love. Otherwise I am incapable of loving any one.”
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How beautiful and true is this of human nature? I know, for my part, I love the idea of serving others… but only when I imagine I will receive praise for it. Like the character in Dostoevsky’s book, I am a hired servant, one who expect praise and love for my charity.
This is false altruism.
And it’s certainly not goodwill.
Rather, I think goodwill is doing things for others— providing love and service and help and compassion—with genuine disregard for what we might get in return.
It is a very difficult thing to be selfless. Nearly impossible. As the book goes on, Dostoevsky seems to suggest that it’s through constant practice that we are able to drown out the proddings of self-congratulation and begin looking on our fellow man with humility and love.
And I suspect he’s right.
