Actions are Eternal

I departed the beautiful Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Midtown Manhattan and re-entered the real world. I walked south on 5th Avenue for a bit and turned left on 45th, where enroute to my hotel I walked by a Jewish bookstore. Being tempted to matters religious on this lovely Sunday morning, I entered and methodically browsed my way to the back of the store.

One of the young men in the store, his prayer shawl in evidence, approached me.

“Good morning.” I offered.

He looked at me and replied, “Good morning to you.”

There was something I liked in the way he spoke. It was an offering of formal goodwill, but with an adult and masculine conviction behind it. It was the kind of articulation that comes from a discipline of courtesy, but a discipline that the young man believed in. So, it came to me as genuine. He made me feel welcome because he had chosen to do so. His choice gave me a place in his store, and I felt comfortable.

How often have we asked someone, “How do you really feel about thus-and-so?” We imply in this question that a person’s natural feelings are the “real” person, and the choices that conceal or manage those feelings are a façade, a put-on, and are not the “real” person. I wish to suggest that we have things precisely inside-out. The choices a person makes are the space-and-time manifestations of that person’s personality and maturity, and they reflect the real person, the real personality, of the mature adult.

Perhaps my young man at the Judaica store felt well, perhaps he felt poorly, but his feelings were unimportant that morning because he made a choice independent of them to act well. And, I expect that if I returned this weekend, he would treat me as well again. If, however, his greeting were merely an expression of natural pleasure at seeing me, or at the prospect of selling me some goods, then tomorrow I may not be welcome. He may feel differently and I may be out of money. A choice of will can be relied upon, feelings are risky.

This discipline of courtesy, this choice to welcome a stranger, seems to me to be an artifact of a forgotten culture, in which people were treated well because we believed they deserved to be treated well, or because our social conventions taught us to treat people well, emotions of the day notwithstanding.

As I am writing this, I am remembering the disappointment I felt at seeing Master and Commander, a film published recently that was based upon the historical novels of Scottish author Patrick O’Brian, who accomplished a rare feat in showing us the language, structure and formality of the relationships between men of the early 19th century. It is this fabric of relationships between the men in the British Navy that makes O’Brian’s writing interesting to this reader, and such a pleasure to read. The film’s writers and director, either out of ignorance or an attempt to make the film accessible to contemporary viewers, largely missed O’Brian’s rigorous, masculine structure of hierarchy, deference and strict rules of conduct. In doing so, they failed to show us how men felt and acted in that period of time, and they lost this viewer. The film had little in common with the world Patrick O’Brian re-painted for us.

In that world, formal relationships dictated courtesies at which we might sneer today, but were based in many cases upon a desire to hold civil conversations among diverse people, even officers of nations who were at war with each other. This skill we now attribute to diplomats, whom we employ to charm our adversaries into cooperating with our various agendas.

But today we have lost more than just formal courtesies and charming conversation. We have lost the conviction that our actions trump our inner life in importance. What do I mean? Religious people are tempted to make the inner religious life—prayer, meditation, attitudes, feelings of love—paramount. We do so because we believe that God looks at the heart and judges by the intentions of the heart. If I, for example, read the gospel “Love one another” in front of the congregation, but I harbor malice toward my wife and resentment toward my children, God will see my hypocrisy and will be displeased. So, we rightly discern that good actions can be tainted by poor attitudes.

If we stop there, however--if we simply say, "God desires a pure heart"--we fail to see the fundamental and eternal value of our actions. We fail to see that God honors our good behavior, actions, decisions and choices, regardless of how we feel about performing them. One should feed and clothe one’s children, help one’s neighbor and remember one’s wife’s birthday regardless of one’s feelings on these matters on a given day.

I am paraphrasing Abraham Joshua Heshel only very slightly when I quote from his book, Man in Search of God, as follows,

"Biblical religion stands and falls with the idea of the absolute relevance of human deeds."

If one believes in God, one believes that one’s choices, decisions and behavior will count on the Last Day, and the natural emotions with which one was genetically endowed will be taken into account merely as elucidatory factors.

Those natural emotions are part of the human being as machine—our biochemistry—whereas, if we really are human, choices and behavior are most certainly not, contemporary sociological thinking notwithstanding. We are not machines—we are people. God is especially pleased when we choose good discipline and make good decisions when our natural feelings don’t line up.

And so, it is no coincidence that the apex of human personality, the most important accomplishment of the human person, is the taking of moral action. The good deed, the kindness to a stranger, the sacrificial assistance to a friend or neighbor, the building of goodwill among brothers, the respect for parents, the encouragement of children, the sympathy for employees, the honest business transaction--these are the purpose for which we were placed here.

Jesus could have said, “Blessed is the man who experiences feelings of peace toward his neighbor” but instead He taught us, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.” Peaceful feelings should inspire peacemaking.

Instead of teaching, “Blessed are you if you feel love for your neighbor” he said more directly, “Love your neighbor as yourself” directing us to change our behavior.

And James wrote the most unpopular words in the Protestant New Testament when he penned, “If you have faith but not works, your faith is dead.”

Why do we gloss over these unglamorous words?

“Do you have a book of common prayer?” I asked my young Jewish helper.
“You mean a prayer book.” I liked him immediately.
“Yes, a book with common prayers.”

He pointed me to several, some for Shabbat and some for daily use. I bought the daily version and left grateful for a common mitzvah, a common kindness to a stranger. I left knowing nothing of his feelings for his job or his life or his God. But I left having experienced something real: his choice to act with kindness toward a stranger.

So, you can see that I have come to appreciate a person's choices as the real manifestation of personality--the real person showing through.
Other personality traits are less important, even insignificant.
Our choices are real.
Our actions are eternal.

God is watching.