[Austin-ghetto-list] words from Stephen Gould

Sun, 30 Sep 2001 07:28:09 EDT

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G'mornin', friends.  These were encouraging words for me to read this morning 
upon first awakening and so I pass them along to you.

Love from Folsom,
Carol

The essay was written by Stephen Jay Gould, professor of zoology at Harvard, 
and the author of  "Questioning the Millennium."

The patterns of human history mix decency and depravity in equal measure.  We 
often assume, therefore, that such a fine balance of
results must  emerge from societies made of decent and depraved
people in equal numbers.  But we need to expose and celebrate the fallacy of 
this conclusion so  that, in this moment of crisis, we
may reaffirm an essential truth too  easily forgotten, and regain
some crucial comfort too readily forgone.  Good and kind people
outnumber all others by thousands to one. The tragedy  of human
history lies in the enormous potential for destruction in rare  acts
of evil, not in the high frequency of evil people. Complex systems
can only be built step by step, whereas destruction requires but an
instant. Thus, in what I like to call the Great Asymmetry, every
spectacular incident of evil will be balanced by 10,000 acts of
kindness,  too often unnoted and invisible as the "ordinary" efforts
of a vast majority.

We have a duty, almost a holy responsibility, to record and honor
the  victorious weight of these innumerable little kindnesses, when
an  unprecedented act of evil so threatens to distort our perception
of  ordinary human behavior. I have stood at ground zero, stunned by the  
twisted ruins of the largest human structure ever destroyed in a  
catastrophic moment. (I will discount the claims of a few biblical 
literalists for the Tower of Babel.) And I have contemplated a single day  of 
carnage that our nation has not suffered since battles that still evoke  
passions and tears, nearly 150 years later: Antietam, Gettysburg, Cold  
Harbor. The scene is insufferably sad, but not at all depressing. Rather,  
ground zero can only be described, in the lost meaning of a grand old  word, 
as "sublime," in the sense of awe inspired by solemnity.

In human terms, ground zero is the focal point for a vast web of
bustling goodness, channeling uncountable deeds of kindness from an entire 
planet -  the acts that must be recorded to reaffirm the
overwhelming weight of  human decency. The rubble of ground zero
stands mute, while a beehive of  human activity churns within, and
radiates outward, as everyone makes a  selfless contribution, big or
tiny according to means and skills, but each  of equal worth.

My wife and stepdaughter established a depot on Spring  Street to
collect and ferry needed items in short supply, including face
masks and shoe inserts, to the workers at ground zero. Word spreads like a  
fire of goodness, and people stream in, bringing gifts from a pocketful of  
batteries to a $10,000 purchase of hard hats, made on the spot at a local  
supply house and delivered right to us.  I will cite but one tiny story, 
among so many, to add to the count that  will overwhelm the power of any 
terrorist's act.

And by such tales,  multiplied many million-fold, let those few
depraved people finally  understand why their vision of inspired
fear cannot prevail over ordinary decency.

As we left a local restaurant to make a delivery to ground zero late one 
evening, the cook gave us a shopping bag and said: "Here's
a  dozen apple brown bettys, our best dessert, still warm. Please
give them  to the rescue workers." How lovely, I thought, but how
meaningless, except  as an act of solidarity, connecting the cook to the 
cleanup. Still, we  promised that we would make the distribution, and we put 
the bag of 12  apple brown bettys atop
several thousand face masks and shoe pads.  Twelve apple brown
bettys into the breach. Twelve apple brown bettys for  thousands of
workers. And then I learned something important that I should  never have 
forgotten - and the joke turned on me. Those 12 apple brown bettys went like 
literal hot cakes. These trivial symbols in my
initial  judgment turned into little drops of gold within a rainstorm of 
similar  offerings for the stomach and soul, from children's postcards to 
cheers by  the roadside. We gave the last one to a firefighter, an older man 
in a  young crowd, sitting alone in utter exhaustion as he inserted one of 
our  shoe pads. And he said, with a twinkle and a smile restored to his face: 
"Thank you. This is the most lovely thing I've seen in four days - and  still 
warm!"

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<HTML>G'mornin', friends. &nbsp;These were encouraging words for me to read this morning upon first awakening and so I pass them along to you.
 
 Love from Folsom,
 Carol
 
 The essay was written by Stephen Jay Gould, professor of zoology at Harvard, and the author of &nbsp;"Questioning the Millennium."
 
 The patterns of human history mix decency and depravity in equal measure. &nbsp;We often assume, therefore, that such a fine balance of
 results must &nbsp;emerge from societies made of decent and depraved
 people in equal numbers. &nbsp;But we need to expose and celebrate the fallacy of this conclusion so &nbsp;that, in this moment of crisis, we
 may reaffirm an essential truth too &nbsp;easily forgotten, and regain
 some crucial comfort too readily forgone. &nbsp;Good and kind people
 outnumber all others by thousands to one. The tragedy &nbsp;of human
 history lies in the enormous potential for destruction in rare &nbsp;acts
 of evil, not in the high frequency of evil people. Complex systems
 can only be built step by step, whereas destruction requires but an
 instant. Thus, in what I like to call the Great Asymmetry, every
 spectacular incident of evil will be balanced by 10,000 acts of
 kindness, &nbsp;too often unnoted and invisible as the "ordinary" efforts
 of a vast majority.
 
 We have a duty, almost a holy responsibility, to record and honor
 the &nbsp;victorious weight of these innumerable little kindnesses, when
 an &nbsp;unprecedented act of evil so threatens to distort our perception
 of &nbsp;ordinary human behavior. I have stood at ground zero, stunned by the &nbsp;twisted ruins of the largest human structure ever destroyed in a &nbsp;catastrophic moment. (I will discount the claims of a few biblical literalists for the Tower of Babel.) And I have contemplated a single day &nbsp;of carnage that our nation has not suffered since battles that still evoke &nbsp;passions and tears, nearly 150 years later: Antietam, Gettysburg, Cold &nbsp;Harbor. The scene is insufferably sad, but not at all depressing. Rather, &nbsp;ground zero can only be described, in the lost meaning of a grand old &nbsp;word, as "sublime," in the sense of awe inspired by solemnity.
 
 In human terms, ground zero is the focal point for a vast web of
 bustling goodness, channeling uncountable deeds of kindness from an entire planet - &nbsp;the acts that must be recorded to reaffirm the
 overwhelming weight of &nbsp;human decency. The rubble of ground zero
 stands mute, while a beehive of &nbsp;human activity churns within, and
 radiates outward, as everyone makes a &nbsp;selfless contribution, big or
 tiny according to means and skills, but each &nbsp;of equal worth.
 
 My wife and stepdaughter established a depot on Spring &nbsp;Street to
 collect and ferry needed items in short supply, including face
 masks and shoe inserts, to the workers at ground zero. Word spreads like a &nbsp;fire of goodness, and people stream in, bringing gifts from a pocketful of &nbsp;batteries to a $10,000 purchase of hard hats, made on the spot at a local &nbsp;supply house and delivered right to us. &nbsp;I will cite but one tiny story, among so many, to add to the count that &nbsp;will overwhelm the power of any terrorist's act.
 
 And by such tales, &nbsp;multiplied many million-fold, let those few
 depraved people finally &nbsp;understand why their vision of inspired
 fear cannot prevail over ordinary decency.
 
 As we left a local restaurant to make a delivery to ground zero late one evening, the cook gave us a shopping bag and said: "Here's
 a &nbsp;dozen apple brown bettys, our best dessert, still warm. Please
 give them &nbsp;to the rescue workers." How lovely, I thought, but how
 meaningless, except &nbsp;as an act of solidarity, connecting the cook to the cleanup. Still, we &nbsp;promised that we would make the distribution, and we put the bag of 12 &nbsp;apple brown bettys atop
 several thousand face masks and shoe pads. &nbsp;Twelve apple brown
 bettys into the breach. Twelve apple brown bettys for &nbsp;thousands of
 workers. And then I learned something important that I should &nbsp;never have forgotten - and the joke turned on me. Those 12 apple brown bettys went like literal hot cakes. These trivial symbols in my
 initial &nbsp;judgment turned into little drops of gold within a rainstorm of similar &nbsp;offerings for the stomach and soul, from children's postcards to cheers by &nbsp;the roadside. We gave the last one to a firefighter, an older man in a &nbsp;young crowd, sitting alone in utter exhaustion as he inserted one of our &nbsp;shoe pads. And he said, with a twinkle and a smile restored to his face: "Thank you. This is the most lovely thing I've seen in four days - and &nbsp;still warm!"
 </HTML>

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