Moral Question

This is one that haunts me. Has for a long time.

Here's the situation:

Imagine yourself out walking on one of those sunny, bright blue, happy days. Birds are singing, darks are barking in the distance, butterflies flit by, etc, etc. I don't know where you're going, exactly, but it's someplace that ranks as a certain kind of "important." Maybe you're on your way to sign paperwork to buy your first house, it's 2:00, and 2:45 is the deadline. Maybe your on your way to your sister's wedding or your big, big job interview. Nothing life and death here, but important stuff for sure.

The path you're walking on runs alongside a pond or a small lake, and here and there you can see people sailing, tubing, having a good time. There are two other healthy adults on the path with you, going the same direction at pretty much the same pace.

And then you here a splash, and a scream, and a couple more splashes, and you see that not too far out from the shore a little boat has capsized, and there are three children splashing around, screaming that they cannot swim. You look, and you can't see there parents. In fact, you can't see anyone anywhere who could possibly get to them in time to save them, except for you and those other two healthy adults on the path.

So what do you do?

The answer is obvious, right? Being a healthy adult yourself, you run and jump into the water, swim out to one of those kids, and pull her safely to the shore. The other two walkers do the same. Everybody does their part. Problem solved. Horrible, horrible tragedy averted. Everybody's picture gets in the paper, everybody feels really good.

Except here's the thing:

The other two don't stop. They keep on walking. They, too, are on their way to weddings or birthday parties or really big interviews or first dates, and they've decided that they can't be sidetracked, they have priorities, they have their own lives to live.

And so it's just you.

And you can still do your part. You can still jump in the water, swim out to the boat, pull that little girl to shore, and say "I did my part." You might even get to your Really Important Thing on time. Wet, but on time. And that's good. That's great. You've done your part. Good for you.

But somehow, it doesn't work out. It doesn't add up. Somehow, once you're in the water, once you know what you've got to do, you can't just do your part and call it enough. Pointing at the backs of the ones who kept walking on won't justify you, won't give you absolution, won't get you out of this. You won't get your picture in the paper. You won't be a hero. What's more, you won't be able to look at yourself in the mirror. You won't be "good." Not even close. Not at all.

Once you've got that little girl to shore, you've got to swim back out for her brother. Because there's still time. You can do it. And once you've got him to shore, you've got to swim back out for their cousin. And it means you'll miss that wedding, or that interview, or that limited time offer. It means you'll get a mouthful of water. It means you'll be tired and sore. But what the hell else can you do? What the hell else can you do when not everybody agrees to do their part? You've got to go in for all three.

And okay. So you can do that.

So rewind.

You're on a path, it's a sunny, blue day with butterflies and barking dogs, and you're on your way to this interview, chance of a lifetime thing, the guy agreed to see you before he flies out in about twenty minutes. And there's four other people on the path, going your way. And there's these five kids in a boat, not too far out from shore. And you hear a series of splashes, and some cries for help, and the other four keep walking...

Or, you're on a path, on your way to your daughter's wedding, and there's nine other people on the path, and there are the three boats out there, and they collide, and then there are these ten kids in the water...

Or... or... there's twenty, there's thirty people on the path...

The question that comes at me over and over again is "where does it end?"

Doing our part isn't it. Not it at all. Not close to the right answer. Not anywhere in the vicinity. Can't be.

None of the people that we pretend to admire get our admiration because they did their part. None of them. Not Jesus, or Gandhi, or King, or Mother Theresa, not any of them.

And none of those people who have told us with "authority" how we should be living our lives have told us to do our part. None of them.

The examples and the directives have gone far, far beyond that.

And so my question, as best as I can word it, is "where does it end?"

Because I've really been trying to do my part. Knowing that that is woefully inadequate, knowing that that is not even on the field of adequacy, where do I go next?

How many kids do you swim out for? Is there any satisfactory answer that leaves one in the water if you've still got an ounce of strength, could still make another trip? Maybe you can't throw your life away, because you've got children, a spouse, people who count on you. But you can make one more trip and get safely back, right? You've got more in you, right? And can you stop like that?

And maybe asking this question is in itself an inexcusable cop-out. Maybe I only ask the question because I already know the answer. Maybe I only ask the question because I know, and asking, pretending not to know, is easier then the doing. Maybe Kierkegaard is right.

"Take any words in the New Testament," he said, "and forget everything except pledging yourself to act accordingly. My God, you will say, if I do that my whole life will be ruined."