Lighting Our way through the Darkness of the Day
Our smallest, most human actions are sometimes the hardest for us to undertake.
We talk about heros; we talk about the ultimate sacrifice of the soldier or the struggle of our healthcare professionals and first responders during a disaster. We rightly applaud the person who will throw themselves into harm’s way for the greater good, but we forget: we forget that often these sacrifices follow from split-second decisions, that their price is paid in a moment, and that there is no turning back after the choice has been made. No one questions the essential righteousness of their sacrifice.
Laying our life on the line, for some small number of us, is the easiest thing we can imagine ourselves doing. Some of us will always be wired to sprint into the maw of disaster — but it is harder, it is so much harder, to be the lone voice speaking softly against a maelstrom of self-righteous hate. That act of moral courage is more difficult than running into a burning building or driving forward under enemy fire because every person around you will tell you it’s wrong. The act feels impossible because you can always decide you’ve had enough and can no longer speak softly, no longer be kind, no longer stand or speak for those who cannot do it themselves.
They — your well-intentioned community — will tell you it’s fine; you’re not the target! They’ll tell you to keep your head down; surely the rage of the day will blow over in due time, and we’ll return to normalcy. They’ll sow doubts. they’ll remind you of the easy path. They’ll all shout together to tell you that you’re wrong to care. When you persist (as you must), they’ll treat you like a leper; they’ll fear you diseased; they’ll cast you out lest you spread whichever affliction they believe impels you to stand apart. They’ll come to resent you — surely you’re judging them for not joining their voice to yours — and resentment, given time, often festers into something far worse.
The courage it takes to continue to burn bright in the face of sour social momentum must be constantly maintained. It’s unlikely to ever offer glory, and it can be abandoned at any time. There’s no heroism in moral courage. Only struggle. Only the drive to do what is right for its own intrinsic sake.
We can’t ever count on a hateful person to change their ways. We should never trust that a good and decent majority will automatically have the courage to stand together against a tide of manufactured vengeance. To be kind, to risk your friendships, your family ties, your place in your community simply by being a small, loving light atop a buoy bobbing in an ocean of bile… This is the hardest thing for a person to do — but it is essential.
This darkness in our world grows and it spreads and it will swallow all that it touches until it’s constrained — but there is hope. This darkness, this hatred, must always consume in order to survive. When it is contained, when it’s boxed in, unable to feed, it will eat itself. It will destroy itself because it cannot live without a target, without something to hate.
There is a rare person among us: those possessed of the most uncommon bravery; those who will insistently, persistently hold a candle to the darkness despite the risk of losing their community, of losing their safety, of losing all that they hold dear to the hands of the zealots. They will shoulder the judgment of the vast tracts of polite souls who will turn a blind eye to whatever the darkness consumes. The brave will stand, they will shout down the darkness, they will whisper encouragement to the persecuted. They will carry a light because they know that one day, their light will meet another — and that the light of two candles together is greater than either one could ever be alone.
There are some among us who will carry this light, just as some of us are impelled to run towards danger for the sake of the common good. There are those in our world who cannot help but shine against the darkness even when its deluge threatens to extinguish them, and with them, their flame.
Look for them. Cleave to them. Shield them from the darkness however you can. It won’t take much — a kind nod; a gentle reminder that they are not alone. It may take nothing more than a moment to imagine, together, how beautiful it will be to see thousands, millions of small lights pushing back the darkness together.
Being the only light in a sea of darkness is the hardest thing for a person to do. It takes profound bravery to be alone in the cacophony of the dark — but it will become easier, with each kind voice and solitary flame that joins with them, to beat back the encroaching void.
Never stop seeking the light. It will always be there, somewhere — quiescent, maybe, or obscured — but it will be there. If you search and you can’t find it, then perhaps it is your turn to strike a new flame; perhaps it’s your turn to carry it for awhile, if you can, and hope that you won’t be alone in the burden for long.