Lessons Learned from Parenthood Applied to Terrorism

Since I wrote the blog on being a conscientious objector I have been struggling; almost as if I had said something mean, but also something that cannot be taken back! The truth is: I'm not sure if I can really stand behind what I said. Perhaps the most important reason being that I do not see a way to successfully draw a line between "benign" and negative acts (like say, when someone is yelling at me) to which an instinctual response (i.e., yelling back) does not seem warranted, from an act that is "non-benign" (i.e., an act that crosses an invisible line into a realm where an "instinctual" response, like the one I outline in my previous blog, is warranted).

I keep coming back to the one basic fact: that all anger, aggression, violence, maliciousness and similar thoughts and acts are rooted in fear. They are, in essence, an extreme form of self-defense. Can we not prevent such acts of self-defense by understanding better what the fear behind acts such as the murders of Paris is all about?

When I say "understanding" I really mean "under"-standing, I don't mean "over"-standing. I mean, in other words, a kind of comprehension that is humble, that stands under, not over, that which it wishes to comprehend. Understanding, seen in this way, is an act of humble approach, of curiosity, of asking questions…it is an act of joining…rather than an act of superiority, of competition and, ultimately, of war.  Too many attempts to "understand" are really attempts to "over"stand, thus resulting in arguments and fighting.

This is the way I would like for us to work out anger: through acts of mutual "under" standing. Immense is the courage it takes to work it this way! We might think that it is courageous to fight back when we're threatened, to send troops, to issue warnings, etc. But most of these acts are far from being courageous. This is precisely the case because they're not considered "acts." Rather they're re-act-ionary, reflexive instinctual responses, dictated by our limbic system not our neo-cortex. Courage is a deliberate circumvention of our instinctual responses to danger. It is courageous to climb El Capitan in Yosemite Park (especially without gear as more and more climbers are prone to doing), it is courageous to stand up, alone, to a tank, as that young man did in Tianamen Square, two and a half decades ago. Simply to react by yelling, hitting or other ways of attacking does not take courage (for the most part; cp. however, my blog-post from …)

I keep coming back to what I consider an essential factor in learning "courage." Because learned it is. We do not get to be courageous without considerable energies invested into the transformation of reactionary, instinctive responses into thoughtful and curious acts of under-standing. This we learn from our parents, teachers, therapists and other people we trust.

Recently, my son Noah and I had a run-in with each other regarding cleaning the kitchen and dishes he had used. Noah has for the most part come home from college every weekend. It's a pleasure to have him here with us. Interestingly,  he uses much of his time home to cook! He cooks all kinds of fancy things for himself. Much of it he packs up and takes back to college with him. We are much in favor and supportive of this. The only hitch is that Noah's post-cooking cleaning skills are not as fancy as we would wish.  Though on the surface he cleans uncounted are the later encounters with dishes and spoons in the dishwasher that did not get cleaned because food was literally sautered to it before he put it in the washer. Potts and pans in the drying rack are cleaned on the inside but not the outside where sauces spilled and oil splattered, the floor reflects clear proof of recipes and ingredients Noah used for his latest cooking idea, and so on. So I could call him up and say "clean the kitchen (again)." The problem is that I don't immediately see everything that is not cleaned. Normally, when I pull out a spoon that is still uncleaned I would much rather clean it myself than call him back to clean one spoon. However, if one thing after another turns up dirty and I end up spending 30 min. cleaning after him, just by "finding" things that are not usable I get frustrated.

It takes courage to speak to Noah about these kinds of things. His reactions to being criticized or called on something have usually been quite intense. In my case, the re-act-ion was not so much an intense yelling back at him, punishing him, etc. Rather it was silence and, more often than necessary, a decision not to hold him accountable for something. Learning courage, in my case, meant to respond with clarity and calm, even in the face of his intense, often angry responses to me. It helped me greatly to know and then remember that anger is a symptom emotion, stemming from fear.

In the case of the dishes Noah's response was quite intense again when I told him about my cleaning Odyssee, following the trail's he had left. But as it turned out the fear he had had to do with something he called "manipulation."At first I didn't get it. What could be wrong with telling him all the things he had failed to clean and left for me to clean after him. But as he explained it (by now I was sitting on the floor in his room and he was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall; we were comfortable in other words) the light went on for me. In a nutshell Noah told me not to clean up after him and then criticize him. Rather, he said, call me and let know what needs to be done; I will do it. Let me fix my own mistakes, he was saying.

Even though this wasn't the end of the story (because I did have a response and he did understand it) I want to stop here for a moment and acknowledge the simple truth in Noah's words. Let me fix it, he had said. In other words, rather than getting angry twice--once about finding the dirty dishes and then again for having to clean them--be angry only once and let me know, he told  me. I let him know that I had actually never considered things in this particular light.

However, I said, there is a problem. I didn't find all the dirty items at once. Rather for about 30 min. I kept finding more things that hadn't been cleaned, thinking every time that this will be the last and then everything should be fine (and I wouldn't have to hold him accountable, i.e., be courageous). Now it was up to him to understand. And under-stand he did.  We both had a good laugh about the silliness of me finding more and more traces of Noah's activities in the kitchen. But of course this didn't solve my problem. How could we deal with this?

I made an unusual proposal: How about we teach you about cleaning the kitchen? (Mind you, this is an 18 year old young man! How would he respond to such a suggestion?) I was floored when he simply said "that's a great idea." We have since had "the meeting in the kitchen." The newly taught behaviors haven't put to the test yet. But I can testify to Noah's willingness to listen, ask questions, and under-stand.

And I want to emphasize this again: it took courage for me to go through this with Noah, my very own son! It takes courage to do things differently, yes, but it takes special courage to act instead of re-act. And this brings me back to my initial question. It is probably not fair to apply a lesson learned from parenthood to terrorism and warfare. Perhaps the rules simply are different and, therefore, what is a re-act-tion in a parenting context is an action during times of war? Perhaps. But a small voice of skepticism remains in my head: have we really had the courage to under-stand our so-called "enemies," the nations that form what G.W. Bush so infamously called the "axis of evil?"