Let’s stop hurting each other. You go first. – Alta

It should be obvious by now that the call for people to love one another—whether in church or in song—carries little weight. Evidently, something keeps us from entering the house of love through the front door. Perhaps we should try the back.

When someone insults our dignity, or does something we find unacceptable, it is anger that we experience, not hatred. The key to whether anger transmutes into hate lies in agency—our capacity for acting. If fear of retaliation persuades us to hold our tongue, then anger congeals into hate as we stifle our protest to spare ourselves further indignity or limit damage already done. But if, instead of submitting to the indignity, we are able to right or repel it, then anger is discharged before it can harden into hate.

Anger is passionate—hot, liquid, kinetic. If repressed, it gels into hatred—cold, hard, stagnant.

Though its cause appears to lie outside ourselves, hate has a secret accomplice within. Its name is Fear. “Hate is the consequence of fear,” Cyril Connolly notes. “We fear something before we hate it.” Anger solidifies to hate when we fear domination or feel discounted; hatred persists if grievances remain unaddressed and dignity unrestored.

When we’re unable to stand up to put-downs, we hate those who diminish us; those who, assuming their own superiority, condescend to us or presume to know what’s best for us. When we find ourselves without resources or allies, we despise those who take us for nobodies.

Hate is caused by unrelieved indignity—real or imagined. Imagined indignities can feel as injurious as real ones, and have led people to commit mayhem and murder.

Although the command to “Love your enemies” does not provide a roadmap, it does function to keep antagonists working at the task of envisioning themselves as parts of a larger whole. Once it’s found, they can substitute the co-creation of that whole for the destruction of each other.

With a first diminution of the threat, we re-conceive our enemies as adversaries. With a hint of mutual value, adversaries become rivals—a term acknowledging each party’s role as a teacher of the other. Finally, by recognizing their mutual dependency, rivals begin to see themselves as partners. Enmity has been transformed into comity, comity into amity.

What can we do to initiate this transformation? First, we can cease to perpetrate indignities, no matter where we are in the cycle of recrimination. In order to open the door to accommodation, we have to show our antagonists the dignity we want them to extend to others and ourselves. We must be willing to meet indignity with dignity, for however long it takes, while not slyly sabotaging the process by taking pride in our own forbearance. Maintaining civility doesn’t mean giving in to others’ demands, but it does mean dealing with them respectfully.

A second line of defense against hatred is to recognize that when real indignities do occur—and they are inevitable—a flash of righteous anger or a sharp verbal riposte preempts the slow burn of hate. As we gain confidence to protest against the indignities that befall us, and to apologize for those we ourselves commit, we deny hate the hothouse required for its gestation.

As we remove hate from human intercourse—either by eliminating the causes of indignity or by restoring agency to indignity’s victims—we give love a chance. There are no shortcuts. This procedure applies not only to relationships between persons, but also to those between groups and nations. Love is shy, but it will turn out to be ubiquitous and abundant once it’s safe for it to show its face.

Let’s stop hurting each other. You go first. – Alta

The twentieth century saw many nations consumed by their own enmity. Hatred is inflammatory, and it has now reached a level where to stoke it, from either the Left or the Right, is incendiary. Beyond a certain level, public hatred sours personal relationships. In societies such as prewar Spain, wartime Germany, Vietnam and Cambodia in the 1970s, Yugoslavia and Rwanda in the 1990s, hatred in the public sphere had catastrophic consequences in the private.

There are worrisome signs that comity is losing ground to enmity in America. As enmity displaces comity, pride suffers from disunity.

Recently, hatred showed its face in the vituperation unleashed by President Obama’s Nobel Prize. Not only did the president’s detractors seize the opportunity to revile him; they derided anyone who did not share their contempt. Both the president and those who supported the award were casually compared with the most villainous figures of the twentieth century.

This piece is not about Obama-hatred. The response to his Nobel is merely another sign that hate is out of hand. President Bush was also compared to Hitler and Stalin. Before that, the Clintons were execrated. No one party has a monopoly on malice.

Calls for civility have not worked, either with the public or the partisan commentators who model disdain and contempt for their followers. Why is hate resonating with the American public?

Though its cause appears to lie outside ourselves, hate has a secret accomplice within. Its name is Fear. “Hate is the consequence of fear,” Cyril Connolly notes. “We fear something before we hate it.”

Anger congeals to hate when people fear domination and experience the indignity of being discounted. No one, conservative or progressive, likes being taken for a nobody. Hatred takes root when fears remain unaddressed and dignity is disregarded. Imagined indignities can feel as injurious as real ones, and suffice to incite people to commit mayhem and murder.

What’s needed to initiate the winding down of enmity is for at least one party to the recriminations to stop returning indignity in kind and start allaying the fears of its opposite number. This means talking over the heads of media demagogues straight to those whose fears have left them vulnerable to hate-mongers. The epigram notwithstanding, it does not put one side at a disadvantage to “go first” in extending the olive branch. Then, it must be willing to meet indignity with dignity, for however long it takes, while not subtly compromising the process by taking pride in its own forbearance. Maintaining civility doesn’t mean giving in to others’ demands, but it does mean dealing with them respectfully.

With even a modest diminution of fear, we re-conceive our enemies as adversaries. With a hint of mutual value, adversaries become rivals—a term acknowledging each party’s role as a teacher of the other. Finally, by recognizing their mutual dependency, rivals begin to see themselves as partners. By this time, comity has replaced enmity, and incivility is out of fashion.

A second line of defense against hatred is to recognize that when real indignities do occur—and they are inevitable—a flash of righteous anger or a sharp verbal riposte preempts the slow burn of hate. As fear subsides, and we gain confidence to protest against the indignities that befall us and apologize for those we ourselves commit, we deny hate the hothouse required for its gestation.

As we remove hate from the public discourse—either by eliminating the causes of indignity or by restoring agency to indignity’s victims—we give comity a chance. Nothing we could do, at home or abroad, would do more to enhance our safety than putting the “We” back in “We the people.”

Some will say that Barack Obama’s Nobel Prize is premature. “What has he done?” they’ll ask.

Obama got the prize not for doing, but for being. Not for making peace, but for exemplifying something new on the world stage–the politics of dignity.

The Nobel Committee has simply made explicit what many have sensed. President Obama is the herald of dignitarian politics. Not libertarian, not egalitarian, but dignitarian.

Dignitarian politics represents a modern synthesis of libertarian and egalitarian politics. War between these two battle-scarred, exhausted ideologies shaped both national and international politics throughout the twentieth century. Obama is the first politician of world stature to identify and model an alternative that can meet the challenges of the twenty-first. Awarding him the Nobel Prize is an expression of the hope that our best chance for world peace lies in the dignitarian politics of which Obama is an exemplar.

What is dignitarian politics? It is the recognition that people the world over actually want dignity more than either liberty or equality. In policy terms, it means ensuring dignity for all–within and among nations.

Obama’s dignitarianism manifests in his inclusiveness, his style, and his manners. Domestically, dignitarian politics supercedes identity politics to embrace blacks and whites, men and women, gays and straights, young and old, rich and poor, immigrants and the native-born. The president has also made a point of reaching out to those who disagree with him both domestically and internationally.

The Nobel Prize will put pressure on Obama to make explicit his reasoning for what has been, up till now, a largely instinctive pursuit of the politics of dignity. Dignitarian politics means not condescending to Americans or citizens of other countries. It means not treating political opponents, whether at home or abroad, with indignity. It also means extending dignity in concrete ways, both political and economic, throughout the world. In programmatic terms, the quest for dignity is usefully conceived of as overcoming rankism–the abuse of a power advantage to demean, hold at a disadvantage, or dehumanize those with less power.

Globally, Obama’s politics of dignity makes Americans safer, in contrast to policies that, by humiliating others, leave us vulnerable to retaliation. Indignities inflicted on others make them indignant and so predispose them to side with our enemies, if not turn against us themselves. President Obama understands that part of a strong defense is not giving offense in the first place. He realizes that in an interdependent world, muscular exceptionalism is a losing strategy.

Dignitarian politics has a host of immediate, practical consequences for international affairs. If President Obama is seen as reacting defensively to indignities served up by his opponents, he will appear weak. But if he goes on the offensive, not against those opponents themselves, but rather in favor of the emergent politics of dignity, at which he is a natural, he will prevail. Awarding President Obama the Peace Prize is a bet on the Nobel Committee’s part that the honor will support him in implementing the politics of dignity that he heralds.

Ever let the fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home…
Open wide the mind’s cage-door,
She’ll dart forth, and cloudward soar.
– John Keats

Most kids visit their grandparents by car. Not me. Mine lived on Puget Sound and to see them my mother, baby brother, and I (at age five, and on a return visit, at nine) rode the train for a week–from New Jersey to Seattle. We had a roomette to ourselves, but roamed the train under the watchful eyes of “porters,” all of whom belonged to The Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, the vanguard union for African-American labor.

No African-Americans lived in my town. None went to my school. As a child, I didn’t notice, let alone understand, that blacks were effectively excluded from many Northern towns by gentlemen’s agreements that barred them from owning or renting property. Sleeping car porters were the first African-Americans I ever spoke to. Of course, they were not then identified as “African-American,” but as “Negroes.”

By the time these men had served us breakfast of sliced oranges and blueberry pancakes in five states, daily made up our little room, and hovered helpfully from sea to shining sea, they were like fond uncles. The contrast between the prevailing racist stereotype and my personal experience of these kindly protectors could hardly have been starker.

A decade later, when I met blacks at college, my experience of the porters helped me bridge what might otherwise have felt like a chasm.

Travel breaks stereotypes. We get to see for ourselves, form our own impressions.

Like many who read Jack Kerouac’s bible for trans-continental pilgrims–On the Road–I spent several summers exploring America in old cars fueled by 35 cent per gallon gasoline.

Why did I go? To devour my country. To swallow it whole. Like a gerbil exploring its cage, I was driven to give my confines a once over and probe the limits of the Americentric vision I’d been raised on. In Of Time and the River, Thomas Wolfe writes of someone who consumed not books, but libraries. That rang a bell. The generation that came of age as America took its place on the world stage was voracious for experience.

Shortly after chalking up my forty-eighth state, I sailed to France for a year of graduate study. Within days of landing, I took off for Germany on a rented scooter to see if it lay in ruins as depicted in wartime newsreels.

Not a stone seemed out of place in Munich, but on the outskirts of the city lay a mountain of rubble that was all that remained of the prewar site of the legendary Oktoberfest. And just down the road was the death camp of Dachau, which left me with a life-long question, one I plan to address in a subsequent blogpost: How could the Holocaust have happened?

In the late sixties, travel brought me another life-shaping revelation, this time in the Soviet Union. Celebrated as our ally against Hitler in World War II, the USSR was now regarded as a treacherous Cold War enemy. By this time my compulsion to explore whatever cage I found myself in had resulted in multiple forays through Western Europe and South America. But Russia, the Pacific countries, and Africa remained virgin territory.

My immediate goal was to find out if the USSR was indeed a workers’ paradise, as some claimed, or a police state with an agenda of world conquest, as others insisted. An exchange with the Russian guide assigned to “mind” me, planted a question that would drive me for decades. After several days of fervent lectures on the unparalleled achievements of Soviet communism, I asked the guide how mental illness was treated in the USSR. I remember her answer verbatim: “There is no mental illness in the Soviet Union. Mental illness is a by-product of capitalism.”

I suspected otherwise, and for years I wondered if behind their official masks, Russians were not just like us. It was, of course, logically possible that they inhabited a parallel universe; that truth for them was different than truth for us. I facetiously called this the “Martian hypothesis,” and vowed to put it to the empirical test, in the manner of my youth, by riding the trans-Siberian railroad across Russia.

Ten years would pass before I could get it together to make the journey. Six years after riding from the Baltic to the Pacific in search of common ground with the Russians, I took the “trans-Sib” in the reverse direction–from Beijing to Budapest. Travel-writer Paul Theroux speaks for me when he notes, “I sought trains; I found passengers.”

I’ve since traveled to Russia many times, and every trip has been an adventure. During the Cold War, there was uncertainty about getting a visa, clearing passport control, even finding an edible meal. Foreigners and Soviet citizens alike feared arbitrary arrest. Getting anything done, felt like a small victory. I was anxious the whole time, even in my sleep.

Fear is part of what makes travel so enlivening and revelatory. You’re perpetually off-balance and on guard. After a while one yearns for the mindlessness of familiar routines. And when you do return home, old pleasures are much the sweeter for having been suspended.

Travel is like truth serum. Whether snaking across the American prairie or the Siberian taiga, crossing the Rockies, Urals, or Karakorams, or cycling through Beijing or Berlin, travel makes us porous to new customs, beauties, ideas, and dreams. I can’t think of a better vaccine against dogmatism or a quicker cure for self-satisfaction. As we struggle to reconcile what we’re experiencing with what we take for granted, we strip away what’s arbitrary in cultural practice and approach what is universal.

Non-travelers are more susceptible to habitual seeing and thinking. Traveling, jolts us awake. Even to cross the street we must cease our sleepwalking…or die. It must be admitted, however, that travel may simply confirm some in the superiority of their own ways. As Thomas Fuller observed in 1732, “Travel makes a wise man better, but a fool worse.”

Travel not only invites us to see the world anew, it gives us an unaccustomed look at who is doing the seeing. None of the benefits of travel compares to the oblique glance it allows us of our selves. By placing us outside ourselves, travel provides us with the distance required to see what it is we are habitually doing and the anonymity to try out new ways of being in the world.

So, we do not travel to get away from it all. Alas, as the bumper sticker says, “Wherever you go, there you are.” Travel fails as escape but it succeeds as confrontation–confrontation with our old selves that, deprived of their usual confirmatory surroundings, may yield to a new one.

Lately, as I head to the airport, I’m starting to feel like one of Pavlov’s dogs. The self-renewal so reliably delivered, by making myself a stranger in a strange land, seems to be triggered by merely climbing into the airport van. By the time I disembark an hour later, it feels like there are enough new ideas coursing through me to justify turning around and going straight home where I can sort them out in comfort.

Once your travels have shown you what it means to see freshly, you discover that you can almost do so without leaving home. Almost, but not quite, at least not forever. There seems to be nothing like immersion in another culture for staving off the mind’s tendency to calcification and continuing the life-long process of creating one’s self anew. We travel to grow up, wake up, and stay on our toes.

The object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one’s own country… . – G. K. Chesterton

Q: What do you mean by “somebodies” and “nobodies”?
A: “Somebodies” are the relatively powerful and successful, “nobodies” the relatively weak and vulnerable. Somebodies with higher rank and more power in a given context can maintain an environment that is hostile and demeaning to nobodies with lower rank and less power in that context. Taken together, those of low rank vastly outnumber those of high rank. If they were to stand together against rank-abuse, they could overcome it. But it’s not that simple because nobodies may also abuse their rank by putting down those of still lower rank. There is usually someone weaker on whom you can pull rank, even if it means kicking the dog.

Q: How can “nobodies” stand up for their dignity?
A: The same way women did in the 1960s. They broke the taboo on discussing gender and initiated a process of consciousness-raising about gender issues. In the process they coined the term “sexism,” which served to identify their grievances and put men on the defensive. In like manner, we must (1) break the taboo on discussing rank, (2) give a name to rank-abuse, and (3) replace the prevailing social consensus, which tacitly sanctions abusing and exploiting the weak, with a new consensus in which rank-abuse is regarded as uncool.

Q: What shall we call rank-based abuse and discrimination?
A: When discrimination and injustice are race-based, we call it racism; when they’re gender-based, we call it sexism. By analogy, rank-based abuse and exploitation are rankism. We won’t be able to confront rankism until we overcome our fear of seeming uppity by using the word in public. Following in the footsteps of uppity women, expect to see more uppity nobodies as the dignity movement gains momentum.

Q: Are you proposing to do away with rank?
A: Not at all. When earned and exercised appropriately, rank is a legitimate and virtually indispensable tool of organization. We rightly admire and respect those who attain it. But when those of higher rank abuse their authority, those of lower rank experience indignity not different in its material and psychological effects from the indignities we now disallow when victims are black, female, elderly, gay, or have a disability. People do not object to legitimate differences in rank, only to rank abuse. Overcoming rankism does not mean doing away with rank any more than overcoming racism and sexism mean doing away with race or gender.

Q. Isn’t rankism human nature?
A: One of the hard-earned lessons of the twentieth century was that racism and sexism are not immutable. While it is virtually inevitable that a power advantage will be exploited initially, it is just as inevitable that such abuse will eventually be resisted. In this sense, rankism, of whatever sort, is no more part of human nature than are racism or sexism. If anything is human nature, it’s that human beings resist abuses of power. Racism, sexism and rankism may be hard to uproot, but they are not immutable. The first two were put on the defensive in the late twentieth century, and rankism itself is no more likely to survive scrutiny than the now-familiar isms.

Q: Why focus on rank instead of class?
A: In modern democracies we interact with authority in terms of rank, not class. In contrast to aristocratic societies, it no longer matters whether your superior has blue blood or blue collar ancestry. What matters is that he or she is your boss, your professor, your doctor, a police officer, or a president.

Q: What are the dynamics of rankism?
A: Rankism occurs when rank-holders use the power of their position to secure unwarranted advantages or benefits for themselves at others’ expense. It typically takes the form of self-aggrandizement and demeaning and exploiting subordinates. It is the opposite of service. Good leaders eschew rankism; bad ones indulge in it.

Q: Where is rankism found?
A: Although it is not necessary to abolish rank to eliminate the abuse of rank, it is true that hierarchies are breeding grounds for rankism. When authorities are not held accountable to those served by the hierarchy, rankism invariably develops. Thus, rankism can be found in bureaucracies, corporations, businesses, workplaces, families, schools and universities, as well as religious, nonprofit, and healthcare organizations. It can be especially hard to confront in non-profits, which see themselves as “doing good,” and may become blind to malpractice within their ranks. Rankism, however, is an equal opportunity malady, and will infect any organization where accountability is lax.

Q: What are the effects of rankism?
A: Rankism distorts personal relationships, erodes the will to work and to learn, taxes productivity, fosters ill-health, and stokes ethnic tensions.

Q: Who are the victims of rankism?
A: Although racism and sexism target specific identity groups, we are all potential victims of rankism. This is because rank is not fixed, but relative. You can be a nobody in one context—and as such vulnerable to rankism—but a somebody in another—and thus a potential perpetrator. Likewise, you can be a somebody one day and a nobody the next. Like racism in the era of segregation, rankism is pervasive and enjoys the support of a tacit social consensus. Rankism afflicts no group more than the working poor, whose hand-to-mouth subsistence makes them vulnerable to abuse and exploitation. In Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America, Barbara Ehrenreich makes a compelling case that the working poor are in effect unacknowledged benefactors whose labor subsidizes the better off.

Q: What are some examples of rankism?
A: Examples include a boss harassing an employee, a customer demeaning a waiter, a coach bullying a player, a doctor humiliating a nurse, a teacher disparaging a student, a parent belittling a child. The civil rights and women’s movements have managed to put racists and sexists on notice. But there has been no corresponding outcry against abuses that occur within a race or gender, in part because until now we haven’t had a name for them. Blacks insult and exploit other blacks of lower rank, whites do the same to whites, and women to women, all with confidence that such behavior, which does not fit the definition of racism or sexism, will pass for business as usual and escape censure.

Q: Do we really need another “ism”?
A: Yes, but rankism, which includes the other ignoble isms as special cases, is the last of the lot. Identity politics, because of its exclusive focus on the rights of particular groups, can foster resentment in those who feel that its concerns and protections don’t extend to them. But no one is immune to rankism. Everyone has experienced it in some context or other (and most of us have dished it out). So overcoming rankism is an inclusive, unifying goal that reduces the myriad injunctions of political correctness to just one: Protect the dignity of others as you would have them protect yours. Sound familiar? The concept of rankism puts teeth in the golden rule.

Q: Does the dignity movement have a slogan?
A: To succeed a movement needs to know what it’s for and what it’s against. The dignity movement is for dignity and against rankism. Imagine the bumper sticker. Better yet, design one.

Q: What would a dignitarian society look like?
A: A dignitarian society would provide universal healthcare, equal access to quality education and retraining, an equitable tax structure, affordable housing, campaign finance reform that prevents vote-buying by special interests, and compensation compatible with living in dignity. In short, a dignitarian society does not tolerate a dignity gap, as created and maintained by rankism, and that, in turn, will require us to make good on the promise that the Founding Fathers imprinted on the American psyche—liberty and justice for all.

I’m gonna live forever.
I’m gonna learn how to fly – high!
I feel it comin’ together.
People will see me and die. Fame!

I’m gonna make it to Heaven.
Light up the sky like a flame; fame!
I’m gonna live forever.
Baby, remember my name.
– From the musical Fame

I hope to persuade you that the seemingly frivolous title question holds a secret with the power to reshape human relations. That a wish for fame belies the existence of a crippling, undiagnosed malady, one rather like malnutrition, except that it’s a disease of the self, not the body. Let me explain.

In a world that sees people as Somebodies and Nobodies, indignities abound. The primary source of man-made indignity is rankism. By analogy with racism and sexism, rankism is defined as what somebodies do to nobodies. To be sure, not all somebodies abuse their power advantage. We’ve all known somebodies who are devoted to serving others and wouldn’t think of abusing their rank, just as prior to the civil rights and women’s movements there were whites who weren’t racist and men who weren’t sexist. On the other hand, most of us, even quasi-somebodies, have gotten a taste of the indignities routinely visited upon those taken for nobodies.

Rankism is now appearing on the radar screen. To do so, it needed a name, and at last it has one. (If it’s new to you, google “rankism” and see where the meme is taking hold.) But, many victims of rankism are still in the position of women before the word “sexism” elbowed its way into the language. Rankism’s victims know that the indignities to which they are subjected are unjustified, but as yet they have few tools with which to resist their tormentors.

So long as rank-based abuse is regarded as business-as-usual, humiliation and indignity will remain unchecked. There are two ways to deal with this. We can either follow the example of identity politics and de-legitimize rankism (as the civil rights and women’s movements have de-legitimized racism and sexism, and as the gay and disability movements are doing to overcome homophobia and ableism). Or, we can attempt to acquire enough power to place ourselves squarely in the Somebody camp and so enjoy the relative security that status provides in a society saturated with rankism. Everyone knows that it’s imprudent to indignify a somebody. Who hasn’t fantasized getting even with those who put us down when we were vulnerable by shoving our Oscar, Emmy, MVP award, Pulitzer, Nobel, or simply our promotion, in their faces? Accrue enough fame in life and you may even attain immortality and, in the words of the song, “live forever.”

It should be noted that avoiding rankism by seeking status and fame is the same strategem employed by victims of identity groups who sought to blend into the dominant group. Passing as a somebody is like passing as a white or a straight. Until we can dismantle rankism, this is an understandable recourse for sidestepping its cruel injustice.

Dignity assures belonging. It’s more than respect or courtesy. To live in dignity affirms, nurtures, and protects. Dignity is the social counterpart of interpersonal love. In the West Side Story ballad Somewhere, when the lovers sing “There’s a place for us,” they are claiming a right to the dignity of inclusion. Contrariwise, in her famous “nobody” poem, Emily Dickinson captures the indignity of exclusion:

I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
The there’s a pair of us—don’t tell.
They’d banish us, you know.

Nobodies are marginalized to the point of invisibility. Since humans are social creatures, banishment carries a threat of being deprived of social and material resources critical to health and happiness, and sometimes to survival itself. No wonder we’re so sensitive to indignity. It poses an existential threat.

Fame promises an escape from whatever ghetto we’re in, real or imagined. It deters detractors and may even squeeze a few crumbs of recognition from those who have begrudged us a smile while we were clawing our way out of Nobodyland. It’s no coincidence that Oscar-winners enjoy better health and longer lives than runners-up.

Like liberty, we’re often unaware of dignity until we lose it. A hint of disrespect may be a test of our resistance to subservience, or a reminder of our place in the hierarchy. A slight is often a precursor to pigeon-holing us as a nobody.

When strangers ply us with questions like “And you are?”, “Who are you with?”, or “Where did you go to school?” they are likely sizing up our power as belied by our affiliations.

The more recognition we can amass, the less likely it is that anyone will dare to nobody us. Fame is a bulwark against indignity. It proclaims our worth to anyone tempted to put us down and threatens retaliation if they persist. It even helps to quiet the critical voices we have internalized—of parents, classmates, and teachers—that echo in our heads long after these naysayers are gone.

The Miasma of Malrecognition

But alas, as everyone knows, there is not much room on the Red Carpet. Acquiring fame is like winning the lottery: many are called; few are chosen.

What then can we do until the dignity movement has garnered the support to put rankism in the doghouse with the other ignoble isms? Fortunately, there is an antidote to indignity more accessible than fame. It is called recognition. We gain recognition through the contributions we make to others and from their acknowledgment. These contributions need not be Oscar-worthy to gain us the dignity we need to thrive. In fact, they can be quite humble in conventional terms. But they must be accurately understood and acknowledged by all involved.

Genuine recognition must be differentiated from both false and inflated praise. The self-esteem movement fell into disrepute because the respect it offered was often disingenuous and exaggerated. What is required instead is a precise understanding and appreciation of each person’s role, and the contributions he or she makes to others. These contributions can be anything into which time, effort, and care have been put—a home, a theory, a dance, a business, a garden, a pie, a blog, any job well done.

Children sense insincerity in exaggerated praise, and soon learn to discount it. The extreme adulation visited upon celebrities and superstars can be deadly. Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, Princess Di, and Michael Jackson were first lionized and then destroyed by their responses to celebrity. The situation is reminiscent of the grotesque distortion that ordinary bees impose on their queen by force-feeding her royal jelly.

Recognition is to the self what food is to the body. And like food, too little or too much can be harmful. We must understand the effects on those who suffer from either a deficit or a surfeit of recognition and take steps to avoid malrecognition, much as we now guard against malnutrition. Seeking fame to preempt indignity and heal the wounds of malrecognition is like overeating to protect against malnutrition.

Rankism and its counterpart—the miasma of malrecognition—lie at the source of much of the social dysfunction that now vexes human societies worldwide. Effective policies to overcome school failure, poverty, chronic disease, criminality, discrimination against women, terrorism, and war require a redistribution of recognition and the de-legitimization of rankism.

In a subsequent post, I will describe a dignitarian society, one in which rankism has lost its bite, dignity is secure, and, although some people are better known than others, we seek salvation not via the vain pursuit of fame, but through service.

If I loved you,
Words wouldn’t come in an easy way—
Round in circles I’d go!
Longing to tell you …
How I loved you—
If I loved you.
– Carousel, Rodgers & Hammerstein

When we fall in love, we don’t know our beloved. She’s a mystery. We’re constantly looking for her—in our mind, on the street. We contrive “chance” encounters. When we meet, we’re jumpy and off-balance.

We want to gaze upon our beloved, inhale her aroma, absorb her essence. Everything we behold is suffused with love. The world is new.

Why do we love? To complete ourselves. To give us purpose. To know our quest. To bring us home. To accept ourselves. “You’re nobody till somebody loves you.”

In adolescence, as we struggle to put together a viable self, our basic guide is love—love for ideas, art, cultures, but above all, love for particular individuals. Love, while it sometimes leads to folly, is nonetheless the best catalyst there is for defining ourselves and identifying our task. As Charles Baudelaire said, “Nature, whether in cookery or in love, rarely gives us a taste for what is bad for us.”

Young love is fanciful, fleeting, and fragile—in a word, romantic. As we come to know our lover, we lose a piece of our innocence. Once love has been acknowledged and returned, it either evolves or turns into memorabilia. Memories aren’t experience, whereas love must be experienced or it’s just habit. Disappointed, we may conclude that love has not lasted. But, in truth, it has as many lives as a cat.

As routine displaces novelty, we may be tempted to shift our attention to someone new and taste again the thrill of romantic love. This is the point of no return. As the mystery that fuels romantic love is dispelled, we either move on or get serious.

If we follow its lead into deeper waters, love morphs into something with the potential to remake us. This is the love of familiar, committed partners, variously known as conjugal, married, or spousal love. Marriage is love’s crucible—it has the tensile strength to contain the heat of self-transformation.

Here, we know our partner. There’s neither the mystery nor the uncertainty to stoke fevered romance. In fact, relationships between mortals invariably include conflict as well as canoodling. But we do not abandon our partner or abort the process just because our ego takes a hit. The bonds of marriage bring us back to try and try again. In “sparring” with our partners, we root out the false in each other and grow.

In a long-running, committed relationship, we love our partners because they love us in spite of the fact that they may hate something about us (often the very same things that bother us about ourselves). A love strong enough to incorporate criticism continually renews its lease on life. As we respond to our partner, a subtly altered person steps into our shoes. Instead of settling into habit, the relationship is recharged by the advent of changed partners.

Sometimes the business of love completes itself for one or both partners. Two people may either hit an impasse or, for reasons they may only dimly surmise, cease to support one another’s continued development.

At moments like these it will seem that love has indeed ended, that the relationship is beyond hope. The point of the sword is hard to find, and having found it, it’s a mistake to wriggle off before getting as clear as you possibly can as to why you’re doing so. Achieving a blameless understanding of a break-up may take years, but it’s a high-return investment in the rest of your life. As we better understand how ex-partners served our development, they may come to feel like old friends.

During a long relationship, there are moments when we see our partners as we did at the outset—with beginner’s eyes. A certain smile, a fragrance, a toss of the head, a posture or gait, can make our hearts leap.

At the start, there was mystery: What does a smile mean? Will our love be returned? Now, we know. The smile holds not mystery but meaning: together, we go forward. The gaze of love holds not a question, but an answer: refreshed, love endures.

For years, poet William Butler Yeats famously courted Maude Gonne—in vain. As part of his suit, he wrote When You Are Old, in which he reproaches his beloved:

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Yeats’s attempt to draw Maude Gonne to him by conjuring up a regretful old age for her was no more successful than are most self-serving admonitions. Yet it produced a diamond of unrequited love.

In Words, another poem written long after his failed suit, Yeats asks himself how it would have affected his life if his court had succeeded. By this time, he’d “come into [his] strength” as a poet, “and words obey[ed his] call” (though Maude Gonne did not):

That had she done so who can say
What would have shaken from the sieve?
I might have thrown poor words away
And been content to live.

When life won’t oblige us, we too can draw inspiration from those who refuse our call and crush our hopes. No suitor wants to admit it, but those who don’t return our love often give us something as valuable as those who do. Like Yeats, novelist Henry James saw an upside in the failure of love, remarking stoically that he’d had to “give up life to be conscious of it.”

We tend to discount our unrequited loves. But not having our way with someone is often as important to the narrative of our lives as the outcome we so ardently desire. The next time you raise a glass to love, consider a silent toast to love unrequited.

Make voyages. Attempt them. There’s nothing else.
– Tennessee Williams

This question comes from an old friend in response to Quests and Questions—A Path to Your Self. When a Facebook friend said she was struggling with the same question, I decided to put off blogging on “Why do we procrastinate?” and grapple with this one instead.

If you have to stick with your job to pay the bills, then you may feel that asking this question of yourself is pointless. But it’s not. Rich or poor, young and old, we all dream of something different, something better, if only when we gaze at the stars. And, regardless of our lot in life, we can give this perennial question a new answer—either by doing differently what we’ve been doing, or by pursuing something else on the side.

To those “nine to fivers” who feel stuck in their jobs, I want to say that what you’re doing with your life isn’t just what you’re being paid for. No matter how humdrum or even hateful your job, “what you’re doing” consists not only of the tangible product of your labor, but also of the effects you’re having on others as you go about your work and life.

The actual contribution made by people emptying bedpans is less the clean pans and more the dignity or indignity sown among those for whom they’re working. The indelible contribution of a teacher is less the knowledge she imparts than the confidence she builds in her students. What you give a child is not your time, but your self.

Even for those who love their work, a job has two aspects: what we do and how we do it. The “how” may trump the “what” and so displace it as a truer description of the impact your life is having on others. And, in the end, isn’t our effect on others the best measure of what we’re doing with our lives? A “nobody” janitor may spread wellbeing among his co-workers, while his “somebody” boss makes his subordinates ill.

If finances require you to put up with work you’d never choose of your own accord, you can nonetheless begin doing your job in a manner that endows your life with renewed purpose. We all know people who, while coping with personal hardship, bring out the best in everyone they touch.

Like many of the questions listed in Quests and Questions, this one benefits from tweaking. If you say to yourself, “Yipes! I probably have only twenty years left! I better get going and do something significant,” then you’ve raised the bar on yourself and made it all the harder to risk a new venture.

Every quest begins with a single step, and baby steps are wobbly. Moreover, we never know if we’ve got twenty or forty years, or ten minutes. It seems to take most of us about ten years to get good at anything, but typically we have a lot more time than that. Even at seventy, age is not a convincing excuse for standing pat, because when you stop growing you start dying.

So, let’s recast the question in age-independent form, and simply ask “What shall I do with my life?”

Where to look for the answer? How to identify your quest? I know of no better advice than that of the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche:

Look back upon your life and ask: What up to now have you truly loved, what has raised up your soul, what ruled it and at the same time made it happy? Line up these objects of reverence before you, and see how they form a ladder on which you have so far climbed up toward your true self.

In our formative years, we fancy ourselves doing this or that, but life may have led us to do neither. Later, in maturity, what draws our attention is usually something that has bid for it on previous occasions. Our early loves keep calling out to us: Don’t forget me, please don’t forget. Even when we’ve labeled a relationship a disaster, there is usually something about a spontaneous affinity that remains pertinent to our present predicament—if we could only locate the baby in the bathwater.

If we can but give our loves their due, they will guide and motivate us for a lifetime. This is not as easy and painless as it might sound, however, because becoming a novice and revisiting virgin terrain means dropping the pretense of being in control. This should not be surprising: a quest is not a quest if the end is known; a question’s not a question if the answer’s given.

We love certain things and people—books, ideas, films, music, art, characters in literature, and the special people in our lives—because they offer hints to realizing the dreams of our youth. Each of those dreams is a rung in the ladder of love on which we’ve climbed toward our self.

But the self towards which our loves lead does not pre-exist. Rather, we build it as we climb the ladder in pursuit of our quest. Step by step we forge a more integral identity, a more selfless self.

To figure out what to do with your life, take stock of your past enthusiams and passions. Line up the objects you’ve revered, the things and people you’ve loved, and then extrapolate love’s arrow. It won’t point to the end of your quest, but it may suggest your next step. Risk that step. Then another. Three steps and you won’t look back.

You can’t know where your quest will take you, but as you go forward, the bridge that connects your old and emergent selves will rise out of the mist, like a developing Polaroid, and come into sharp focus. Not only you, but others, too, will recognize and acknowledge your new vocation.

The price you have to pay for the vitality and joys of the questing life is uncertainty, and with uncertainty comes the certainty of multiple failures. As Samuel Beckett says, “Fail. Fail again. Fail better.” And then, fail better still, until, little by little, you come up with something you want to share with others. As it happens, that’s enough.

Quests and Questions—A Path to Your Self

Every other mother in Brooklyn would ask her child after school: “So? Did you learn anything today?” But not my mother. “Izzy,” she would say, “did you ask a good question today?”
– Isidore I. Rabi, (1900-88), Nobel-laureate in physics

The knights of the Round Table sought a quest and then lived it—to the ends of the Earth. Through their quests, Arthur’s knights forged their identities. Their quests inspire and guide us as we recapitulate in our own lives their character-building trials.

Today, quests come to us as questions. They begin as tiny discrepancies between our felt experience and the conventional wisdom and end only when we either abandon ourselves and join the prevailing consensus or we bring conventional thought into alignment with our personal truth.

Instead of slaying dragons, we pose and answer questions. Our questions can be personal, political, aesthetic, scientific—anything. A question lies at the heart of any troubling confusion in our life.

Identifying a heartfelt question and pursuing it with integrity is no less demanding than chivalric questing used to be—and no less transformative. Questioning something that others take for granted may isolate you. Some will take you for a nobody and drop you. But if you can survive lonely vigils, surmount criticism, and endure disrespect, then the pursuit of a question is a contemporary path to finding out who you are.

The first step in a modern-day identity quest is to stop brushing our questions aside and take them to heart. This means putting them into words, no matter how sophomoric, outrageous, or politically incorrect they may sound. Once you’ve got a crude first draft of your question, you can begin revising it until suddenly you realize you can’t rest till you’ve found an answer. Pursuing a question may still take you to the ends of the Earth. Rarely do earnest attempts to answer well-formulated questions not yield at least a taste of enlightenment.

The best gifts I’ve ever received have been questions I couldn’t shake off. Good questions are better than good answers, in this sense: they give us purpose, whereas a good answer stops our exploring and makes us a teacher. Catching a good question—and most questions come uninvited and whispered, not shouted—is a skill to be cultivated, as Izzy Rabi’s mother knew. Those who learn to notice and follow their questions, never get old. When I taught physics at Columbia, I knew Rabi. In his sixties, he was as playful as my own children. I ran into him at a conference a decade later and he announced, “Today I am three score and ten plus ten percent.” Do the math and you’ll see it was his way of letting me know it was his 77th birthday.

I’ve often find that my first “answer” to a question, though it may feel like a breakthrough, later ceases to satisfy. Revisions proliferate, and may even bring about a reformulation of the original question. Recast, it gets back under my skin. Also, it’s not unusual to have several questions in play at a time. Progress on one question often leads to progress on another. As the pieces of the puzzle fall into place, a familiar old identity morphs into a new one.

Answering questions may not seem as glamorous as slaying dragons, but it’s a mistake to think of pursuing questions as mere intellectual exercise. Every one of my questions had its origin in emotional turmoil, and, until I found an answer, sent me questing far and wide.

A key criterion that an answer has to meet before it satisfies is that it must explain behavior not judge it—no matter how bizarre or even repugnant the behavior may be. For example, damning laziness or lying or bullying or prejudice, illuminates nothing, but examining these behaviors for what they reveal about power relationships is revelatory and holds the promise of changing them.

The classic example of substituting righteous judgment for sober understanding was dismissing Hitler as an evil madman. Partisan ideologues continue to make the same mistake today. Vilification reinforces in people the very behaviors we would like to change. Humiliation only stokes revenge. Even subtle condescension comes round to bite.

What does work is dignity. What’s required for individual and social wellbeing is dignity for all. But I’m getting ahead of myself. That breathtakingly simple idea is what leapt out at me once I had answers to the apparently unrelated questions that I propose to share with you over the coming months.

I’ve already posted a few of these questions, and my personal answers:

• Why are we obsessed with sex?
• Why do we seek a partner?
• Why do we hate good-byes?
• What is the source of indignity?
• Who are the somebodies and nobodies?

In future, I’ll take up other questions that fueled quests, including:

• Who am I?
• What is intelligence?
• What is genius?
• What is enlightenment?
• What happens to us after we die?
• Are people the same the world over?
• Why are we fascinated by celebrities?
• Why are we drawn to mystery?
• Must love end?
• Why do we get bored?
• Why is it hard to admit we’re wrong?
• Why are we lazy? (Why do we procrastinate?)
• Why do we like to travel?
• Why do we want to be rich? famous?
• Why are we skeptical of do-gooders?
• Why do we lie? exaggerate? hate?
• Why do we use drugs?
• Why are we prejudiced?
• Why is there torture? rape?
• Is there a better game than war?
• Why is life hard?

Some of these questions are cuddly dog-sized dragons. Others are fire-breathing tyrannosauruses. All they have in common is that they grabbed hold of me.

Your own questions will announce themselves to you—if you’ll let them. There are no “right” answers, only right pursuit. Follow your “dragons” and they’ll lead you to your self. Slay even one, and you’ve earned a place at the Round Table.