For me, this isn’t about a “story that will make you believe in God.” It is a matter of having faith. Maybe it’s faith in some greater force or just simply faith in the will to live. For some, you could say that belief in God is what helped Pi continue each and every day. The belief that someone greater up there is watching out for you. I like the idea of having someone watching out for me, personally, and if I clung to that little fact then I would have a much greater confidence in my life—maybe because it’s out of my hands and in someone else’s. So, if I die, is it my fault? "We are all going to die" (Anthology 26), but we definitely all have a different perception as to how/why we die. Sometimes I feel like believing in something greater is just someone’s attempt at blaming others for what happens to them. They can’t take their own lives into their hands, so they leave it up to this greater being to decide for them. Sure, it is comforting to believe that someone’s out there for us, but maybe it isn’t who you think. There are people out there each and every day looking out for us, but it doesn’t have to be God. It can be your friends, family, teachers, random strangers. In the end, I really think that this is a story that will make you believe in the will to live and survive. But also in love and companionship.
(Me surrounded by people, as usual)
I am a firm believer in having people around. I hate being alone more than anything else. I love having fun with people, working with people, exercising with people, watching movies with people, I could go on and on. For me, the will to survive would depend upon having someone else there with me. Life alone, for me, isn’t a life at all. I’m not sure why this is. Maybe I define my life by how others react to me. Which is a sad thought, but as accurate as anything else I can think of. I like seeing the reactions of other people and reading other people. I like interacting and having discussions and seeing different points of view. But it’s more than that. It’s just the presence of another person. So, for me, that is the will to live. To meet people and to make relationships with people. Not even people—it can be animals as well, like for Pi. Without companionship, I do not believe that Pi could have survived with Richard Parker. So, what is it that keeps us alive? Why do we want to continue living? That is up to you to decide. We all have our different reasons for wanting to live—our passions you might say. It’s as if all those tiny little things in life make up the will to live—for me, people, music, nature, among other things. Why would this story make me believe in God any more than these beautiful aspects of life? If I believed in God (and I’m not saying I don’t), I would believe in the beauty of life that he/she creates. I would thank God for the people around me, the music created by myself and others, and the peace and happiness that nature brings to me. I feel like something like surviving out in the wilderness is not something you can judge your faith by. Faith is just something that is there—a little presence in your mind of a divine being. And sure, small miracles can make you even more certain of this feeling, but those who do not believe in any sort of God can easily contradict God’s intervention in these matters. These people could say that Pi survived because he was a willful, strong person. They could say that he was resourceful and intelligent. They could say he was lucky.
They could also say that Pi’s sentimentality saved him. He has a "refined and elevated feeling" for others and a strong appreciation for life—for his own life, Richard’s life, the lives of the animals he had to eat to survive. This appreciation for life might have been what made him so intent on remaining alive. He kills to stay alive, so if he were to die, he would have killed in vain. He would have “blood on [his] hands” for no reason (183). Also, his appreciation for Richard’s life would die along with him and then Richard would perish as well without someone to care for him. “Life is hard to believe, ask any scientist. God is hard to believe, ask any believer” (297). It’s true. Life is hard to believe, especially when it is so hard to live as Pi did. But what makes something so hard to believe? Is it because it isn’t what we perceive as “normal”? Because if that is true, then we are not on our way to a very open-minded world. God or no God, you can believe in something based on other things. The people interviewing Pi do not believe him because his story is indeed a crazy one. But this sort of scorn is upsetting. There can be miracles in life just because miracles can happen sometimes. It’s true that “very few castaways can claim to have survived so long at sea as Mr. Patel, and none in the company of an adult Bengal tiger,” (319) but just because the story is “unparalleled” (319) doesn’t have to mean it’s fake. It all comes down to what you believe how much you are willing to have faith. What you have faith in is entirely up to you.
Faint rays of sunlight pierced the slats of our roof. It was that type of light that isn’t quite real. The light was punctured by the haze that lay over Xi’an and, well, most other cities in China. Stretching, I sat up from the pallet that served as my bed for the time being. They were all about the same—built for conveniently serving as sleeping quarters for boys of about the ages eight to ten. The other kids remained asleep, but not for long. I knew that the roaring voice of Gang would be startling them out of slumber any minute now. Sure enough, his sharp voice could be heard as he made is way up the stairs, yelling for us to wake up. After all, we had a quota to fill today—and every other day so long as we wished to live with a roof (no matter how slatted and leaky) over our heads.
I leapt up from my pallet, straightening the small strip of cloth that served as my blanket. As if I needed one in this weather. Already, I could feel sweat collecting on my brow and at the tighter parts of my scrappy shirt and shorts. I slipped my dirt-covered feet into thin-strapped sandals and grabbed a small straw hat from next to the pallet. Jamming it on my head, I raced down the stairs with the other children, scrambling for a bag of merchandise I could sell today. The faster down the stairs you are, the more likely you’re going to get a good bag of stuff to sell. Thus making it far more likely to fill your quota for the day. Sometimes I didn’t even get down there in time for a bag. Then, you were really in trouble. Begging was the worst. Grappling with the others, I managed to get the bag with the little Terracotta Warrior figurines. Looks like I’d be doing some trespassing today. However, I guess it could be worse. At least Gang fed us and housed us. I’m not sure what I’d do if I didn’t have him. The occasional beatings are worth a guaranteed living space in Gang’s circle.
After a hurried breakfast, I made my way out into the heat. Upon leaving the house, a blanket of sticky heat enveloped me. The change was instantaneous. My clothes began to stick to my body. My uneven bangs clung to my forehead as I made attempts to brush them out of the way repeatedly. The thick straps of the heavy backpack cut into my thin shoulders. As I made my way down the busy street, my senses reeled with activity around me and my constant need for caution.
Cars whizzed past, coming inches away from grazing each others’ bumpers and horns blared in quick repeated blasts. Jostled by the crowd, I turned the pack around so that it rested on my chest. Protecting the figures was most important. If they broke, not only would I fail to raise as much money as I needed, but I’d be in debt to Gang for breaking valuable merchandise. Clutching the backpack in my arms tightly, I continued to make my way through the crowd of impatient civilians hurrying to their various jobs. And if they weren’t civilians, they were frustrated tourists looking for the next bus stop, the next museum, the next restaurant where they could actually read the menu. The stench of the city rose up in my nostrils, filling them with the smell of car fumes, trash, and sweat. As I made my way toward the museum, I tripped over the expensive shoes of a Chinese businessman. Angry cries followed me as I tried desperately to save the fall. Too late. I flung out my hands to protect the soldiers, and cut my hands on the hot pavement beneath me. Dust rose in my face and I coughed heavily. Scrambling to my feet, I swung the pack once again to my back, feeling those straps rubbing against my already raw shoulders.
The sandals’ soles were too thin. I could feel each and every pebble that I stepped on and the bottoms of my feet were soon throbbing from the hard ground. I jogged the rest of the way to the steps of the formidable looking museum. Despite the early hour, hordes of people were milling around the long walkway to the entrance and at the doors themselves. I made for the parking lot, near the latest cluster of tourist buses. I made for the tall figures of the Caucasian tourists—the easiest targets.
They couldn’t resist the face of a small Chinese boy and his unfortunate position in the field of begging. I reached inside the backpack and drew out a small rectangular box that held about four of the little soldiers. They were cheaply made and upon touching them, black dust came off onto your fingers like soot. I propped open the lid, which was covered with cheap, Asian patterned fabric.
Holding the figures out in front of my (on display if you will), I approached the nearest group of white people. I tapped the plump shoulder of a middle-aged woman. She looked my way grumpily. There were patches of sweat at her underarms and her brow was soaked. I offered the box of Terracotta clay figures and spoke one of the few English phrases I knew: “Cheaper for you, lady. Twenty yuan.” She considered and then shook her head. “Okay, okay, fifteen yuan.” Looking more satisfied, she reached for her purse. The trick with these people was offer a price far above what the actual item was worth. They had no way of knowing how much these things should cost and if they were displeased with the initial price, you were still breaking even at the end of the haggling. She thrust out the correct number of bills and I offered the box. As she made to inspect them closer, I slipped easily into a nearby crowd. Better to be far away while they find out just how cheap the merchandise is that you just sold them.
The day continued in the exact same manner, ten minutes, then twenty, an hour, two hours. The sun rose, it’s hot rays penetrating the smog and continuing to grow warmer. My back was soon soaked in sweat from carrying around the backpack. Mercifully, it was growing lighter as I got rid of box after box of little clay figures. Around noon, I grew brave. Slipping off to the side of the huge building housing the great warriors, I made my way to a row of bushes surrounding a courtyard behind the museum. Struggling through the leaves, I yanked my way through, pulling the pack behind me. This part of the museum was lovely, with small man-made ponds and stone benches off to the side. A large party of white tourists was just exiting the building. A girl walked about the courtyard, chatting animatedly with two other girls, about her age. She had short brown hair, frizzed up in the intense humidity, dark brown eyes, and modest (but nice) clothing. A shoulder bag hung on her shoulder, and she clutched the bottom of it protectively as though fearful that the contents could be stolen. Good idea. She wandered from the other two and I made a quick decision. Ducking out of the bushes, I approached her.
She looked a little alarmed at the sight of me. I’m sure I looked pretty raggedy to her. My patchy clothes were disheveled from crawling through the tight bushes and I was covered in sweat and dirt. My feet were more brown black than tan and I could feel the grime clinging to my face. I held a box of statues before me, repeating my mantra.Her face relaxed, but still had a slightly suspicious tone behind her eyes. As I considered lowering my price, a shadow crossed my vision. A long shadow belonging to an even longer person. Uh oh. The guard swooped down on us suddenly from behind her, arm raised. WHACK! His hand came across my cheek with a resounding slap that echoed across the courtyard. Silence followed. Hardening my jaw, I reached for her outstretched money, pressing the box of soldiers into her hands, which I noticed were shaking uncontrollably. Her sweaty face had turned stoney and drawn and before averting my eyes, I noticed they were filled with tears.
***
The little boy disappeared through the clump of bushes, his backpack disappearing with him. I clutched the box of clay warriors in my trembling hands and found I was having difficulty swallowing. What I wanted to do more than anything was throw them as far from me as possible. The guard had disappeared, back to his post no doubt, and my nearest family members had grown silent. The tears began flowing steadily, running down my already moist face. I couldn’t get the image of that little boy out of my head or the noise of the guard’s large hand coming across his face. The boy had seemed so unfazed. Or resigned perhaps. No tears had come and no cries of pain had escaped his lips. The way he had averted his eyes in the end and the way he had trudged wearily off the museum property was too much for me. I could feel the injustice of this child’s life welling up inside me. How could that sort of treatment toward children be tolerated? My mother approached me. She looked at me sternly and scolded my behavior, claiming that this sort of situation was no unheard of. She reminded me of all the stories of abuse present in America. I retorted angrily that child abuse in America happened to be illegal and continued to cry for this poor little boy. Of course there was child abuse everywhere. I wasn’t completely naïve. But the question remained: is it tolerated, or even encouraged, everywhere? I knew that in America striking a child in public was severely frowned upon. Here, however, it seemed perfectly acceptable for this guard to hit this child. A child that wasn’t even his, at that. I spent the next hour at the Terracotta Warrior museum in reflection. Why had this affected me in such a way and affected my family so little? I couldn’t understand the lack of compassion here. I couldn’t bear to see this poor little boy struck for doing something that I’m quite sure he had no choice in. Unless he wanted to starve, that is. On top of everything, what could be done for a situation like this? Knowing very little about politics and foreign affairs, I had no way of knowing how we could help out kids in countries like this where physical punishment was so popular.
So, what if I could do something? Say, end this acceptance of child abuse and labor all over the world. I could make people see that hurting a child is a sickening action and, since children are our future, see how to constructively shape our world’s youth. I realize that goals like this are silly, almost unattainable. However, it is important to have an idealistic picture in my mind. If I were to launch some kind of campaign, I want a dream to strive for. Like Martin Luther King Jr., I can set these kind of goals which may someday be attainable, but right now are just inspiring thoughts.
I know there are some things I personally could do as well, however. Just like how I spoke out against my family, who failed have sympathy for this poor child, I can speak to others how don’t understand that this treatment shouldn’t be tolerated. Starting small, I can speak of the topic only when it is relevant or brought up in a conversation. Later though, I could inspire organizations to raise money and do awareness campaigns about child abuse and children worldwide. I could find speakers who are respected by the public to give speeches promoting awareness of this issue. To truly have plan (and I mean on greater level than my own personal efforts), I feel like I need to start now and see where my efforts take me. Remembering this little boy will always be my inspiration, however. The feelings that I felt when I saw him struck in front of me will remain with me forever and the image of his defeated face as he quickly averted his eyes will flash before me as I work to give this boy and all other children a shot at a better life.
Listening activity. After clearing the mind, instead of letting go of everything, search for the meaning of faith and spirituality. What are your beliefs?
What, ultimately, is most important in spirituality/religion? What are some of your personal beliefs?
Everybody has their own spiritual beliefs and their own sense of faith. Whoever wants to should share what they believe.
"Love, in the end, is what truly matters." ~Helen
"But I still believed in a greater meaning – whether it be the harmony of nature or personal success, or simply the quest for joy in life. " ~Alice
"And, he loves others, believes in their potential goodness of heart." ~Helen
"Personally, I feel that the means to do this rests in the one divine concept fully expressed here on our imperfect world. Love." ~Chris
"I gathered that Man has free choice disassociated of a deity and that his only redemption is to himself upon his every action, reaction, and interaction." ~Thuyen
"My leap is faith in the infinite, or more precisely, the infinitely small uniform composition of matter. Within that infinite rests a force – the force that causes all physical reality, the first force that determined the history of everything. To believe in this force is to have faith, my faith, in the idea that everything is connected, and everything follows a path of elegant uniformity." ~Alice
"My faith has never wavered in my belief that there is something out there for us to grasp onto. A greater force or divine being, or sorts, to create, protect, guide." ~Emily
"That energy, to me, as silly as it sounds, was proof of a God, my God." ~Maysie
"So, like Pi, I feel I can make my own reality, my own 'faith.'" ~Katherine
What are some moments that can make or break your faith?
It's always fun to reflect on moments that made you so sure about something out there. I remember just this weekend I went running with some friends at Town Lake. We finished and lay down in a patch of grass outside the Wells Fargo building, looking up at shapes in the clouds. To me, these are the moments that make it so clear. Just that there can be such beauty in life is enough. And, sadly, there are those times that made of question faith very strongly. Why do certain things happen to good people? Why do certain things happen to bad people for that matter?
"But I’ve thought that maybe this reason comes from the fact that all events in life play out in a certain way that will never change. Time, until the end of time, is set in stone and events will happen as they have been planned by some greater figure."~Emily "For me, I’d have trouble trusting that greater force who just let my family die and left me stranded with zoo animals in the middle of the ocean (possibly to face death soon as well)." ~Emily
"I usually find him in the most unexpected places." ~Lauren
"And it was so beautiful...You had to be there maybe, but there was something so... deep about this realization" ~Lauren
"That is something I can relate to except I am opposite from him in that he comes to gain faith in all of the religions while I shied away from them." ~Thuyen
"But in all honestly, the time in which I felt most connected with God was a random Wednesday after school in yoga class" ~Maysie
Moving on...How did this part of the book affect your perspective of nature?
Clearly, the talk about the zoo brought about some responses. What did you guys think about Pi's version of things?
"If you ask me, his religious beliefs are almost zoo-like. They encompass aspects of many religions, much like a zoo encompasses creatures of all different kinds." ~Jose
"To be honest, I find it somewhat frustrating that he has such strong convictions about animal behavior when there is so much we don't know." ~Jose
"While animals feel pain as we do, they do not necessarily view the world as we do." ~Molly
"We act with the same predatory instincts to those we view as weak, especially as children, before we have truly learned compassion." ~Molly
"'DO YOU KNOW WHICH IS THEMOST DANGEOUS ANIMAL IN THE ZOO?' (31). Behind the curtain that this sign pointed to was a mirror. We are. Since we are neither share the same backgrounds nor are the same species as the zoo animals, we cannot fully understand the animals themselves" ~Jade
"Observing the animals and even witnessing their violent natures foreshadows the manner in which Pi will cope with the circumstances he is placed into." ~Jade
This novel didn’t strike me as one that would get me thinking from religious standpoint. I went in unsure of what to expect. All I had ever heard about Life of Pi was that “oh that’s a good book!” What’s so great about it? Shipwreck—we’ve had plenty of those. Animals—based on last semester, you can safely say there are PLENTY of those. Differing cultures—there’s a fair share of those books as well. And at this point in the novel, I’m still unsure of what to expect, but I can venture a guess. Shipwrecked, orphaned, and terrified of being eaten by a giant tiger, the question of faith pops up in my mind. I believe I can safely say that everyone will go through a point in their life that will cause them to question their faith. Whether it could be losing that faith—death in the family, continuous runs of bad luck, unrequited love or gaining faith—witnessing some miraculous event that gives you this insight into something greater, there is always that point in your life.
For me, I’d have trouble trusting that greater force who just let my family die and left me stranded with zoo animals in the middle of the ocean (possibly to face death soon as well). But maybe these events make us stronger in the end. We have a stronger belief in what is out there and why things happen. We are taught from a young age that “everything happens for a reason.” But does it really? Who’s to say that’s true? I don’t even know if Pi knows if that’s true anymore. After such a loss, what could the reasoning be behind that? But I’ve thought that maybe this reason comes from the fact that all events in life play out in a certain way that will never change. Time, until the end of time, is set in stone and events will happen as they have been planned by some greater figure.
My best friend, Emily, and I are not the most religious people. We talk occasionally and when we do, it’s speculating leaves me wondering. One time, I asked her we discussed what happened to atheists after they died. She replied, as though it was obvious, “God forgives them for not believing and they go to heaven anyway.” I had always thought that the case was different. I wondered—if people did not believe in a heaven, how could they arrive there in the end. Atheists clearly did not desire an afterlife, so would they get it anyway? My faith has never wavered in my belief that there is something out there for us to grasp onto. A greater force or divine being, or sorts, to create, protect, guide. But as for everything in between, I remain relatively lost. And after talking to Emily, my belief remains firm in that God is ultimately forgiving and that good people (no matter what they believe) will be rewarded in the best way God sees fit. Perhaps Gandhi was right when he said “All religions are true” (69).
So what if you could practice more than one religion? To me, there are beauties in every religion. My friend told me the other day that he disagrees with practicing more than one religion. He insisted that they could not all follow the same God unknowingly. Ever since I was young, though, I had thought that this was true. That we may all have different religions and traditions and who we follow—but in the end we may all end up in the same place. It is a beautiful thing to me that, despite all our differences in religion, we as humans could all end up together someday. No longer torn apart by our religious prejudices but thrown together. “One nation [in the sky], one passport” (73). Pi’s father discusses how the three different religions can’t work together, stating about Muslims “’They’re outsiders’” (75). I never see people of different religions as outsiders, but that word is there. Different.
Maybe we don’t have to be so different someday. I like Pi’s unwavering faith. He has firm beliefs that he can practice all three religions and no one can tell him otherwise. He is so certain of the three religions he practices and I am confident (I haven’t read it yet!) that this will ultimately guide him throughout the rest of this novel.
From this reading, I think I’ve realized a thing or two about service. I tried to be as active as I could be in high school, but usually my commitments to service felt stretched, annoying, and not very enjoyable. I went through the motions because I was being “should upon” (Dass 157). And after reading Dass’ opinion about service, I’ve realized why it wasn’t as rewarding as I always thought it would be. Because I didn’t “discover” (Dass 157). I didn’t do the research on my own, I attended my Student Council meetings and was told about what we could do to volunteer. More than once, I heard my friends say that we were merely the manual workers of StuCo and that our opinion about things didn’t matter. And to an extent, it was true. We tried to express desires about helping certain causes and had little response from the executives. I can’t complain, though, because it is my fault that I didn’t know about what I was volunteering for. I could have researched and found my own ways of helping out and that would have been more me. Maybe I was too lazy or maybe I lacked self-confidence.
Whatever it was, I lacked passion for the things I put effort into. And then my friend had an excellent idea. We were both part of a string quartet and she suggested playing for nursing homes. I realized that I could share my love of music with others and in doing so, I could bring joy to people and I could also do something I love. From what I’ve read by Dass concerning service, this seems to be the ideal of service. Music is a huge part of who I am and sharing it with others and this was the best part.
However, from this StuCo experience, I found I had to respect the opinions of others. I realized how it felt to be ignored and have what you care about pushed aside. Ram Dass said that “if you try to dominate people, you are already defeated” (Dass 168). I have to agree. Student Council dominated me. Our meetings were all mandatory and there was a very strict system to follow. I had trouble dealing with people that couldn’t listen to me and could not respect the opinions of the people that did most of their work. Thus, StuCo activities became a hassle. They were not enjoyable because my heart wasn’t in them and I had no passion for the cause because we knew nothing about it. Volunteering became a way to make the number of points required of each six weeks rather than this rewarding experience of helping people in need.
So I’ve decided that to be involved, I can’t do what is expected of me or what I think would look best to other people. I need to find things that interest me and find groups that have a cause that I have looked into and researched before I dedicate myself to it. “Everybody’s trying to make the best of a nutty situation” (Dass 242) and that everybody includes me. I just need to find my spot in this nutty situation and figure out what I can do to help.After reading Dass, I have more confidence in my ability to listen to the problems of others and assessing what I can do to make situations better. In the movie “Keeping the Faith,” a young rabbi is trying to push his congregation into grow and expand religiously. However, his methods are extreme and the head rabbi tells him that he will get more response if the people feel that they are being “lead and not pushed.” I have to tell myself that I can’t push people into agreeing with me.
When I watched “Earthlings,” I made the decision to give up eating red meat. When I tell people about it, I have to remind myself not to have an “air of superiority” (Dass 158) in how I convey my reasoning for this decision. I have to explain myself at a perspective from how I feel rather than how they should feel. And based on these terms, I am excited about launching myself out into the world and helping out in any way I can.
When I was performing in the local theater company, the director always drilled a certain statement into our heads: "Listening is looking at the person speaking." For little kids (I was in 6th grade at the time), perhaps this was wise advice and it did work to an extent, but I've realized that this does not necessarily hold true. One time, I was chatting with my neighbor while he was talking. He caught me, and said, "Emily, listening is looking at the person speaking." So, I turned my head in his direction. However, my thoughts didn't immediately settle on what he was talking about. They wandered to my own embarrassment that he caught me and to the things that we were talking about. I saw him and took in what he was saying, but I still didn't really care and was more preoccupied. Also, when I'm trying to concentrate on what is being said in class or something, I will do everything in my power to focus on the teacher: look directly at them, sit up straighter, write down what I hear. But no matter what, my mind continues to wander to other matters. Not even more important things, just things that I find more interesting.
What I've realized is that to listen, I have to actually care about what is being said. And when that happens, "our minds become concentrated, sharp and clear" (Dass 100). When it comes to the suffering of people I care about, of course I will want to listen and respond in order to help them out. However, if I'm listening to something less interesting (Calculus for example), my mind is much more likely to wander. And my mind tends to wander back to issues concerning me or the people I've been listening to lately (that I actually care about). However, I have also found that the mind (or we, as people) can be very selfless.
One time, my friend and I were getting ready to go out one night. We were deliberating and fretting over what to wear, how to do our hair, and what color make-up looked good. I resolved to ask my sister what she thought, because her sense of fashion is much better than mine. When I walked into her room, I found her crying. Immediately, my thoughts about our evening out vanished to be replaced with concern for her. She explained her problems and all I could think about was trying to comfort her and deal with this new problem.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that although we are all selfish people and have our own thoughts and problems bubbling at the surface, compassion, in the end, wins. I was truly upset about my sister's troubles and pulled myself out of my own world and entered hers. I'm not entirely sure I can agree with Dass about how "in our zeal to help, we may increase the distance between the person and our own consciousness" (Dass 99). I find that listening to their troubles (while there are always going to be distractions) intensifies my focus and I am able to be a better listener.
So maybe listening is entering another person's world and leaving yours behind. I guess there really is a "breadth to our perspective" in that it's "aerial, wide-screen, panoramic,and yet able to focus quickly" (Dass 105). For my step-mom, it seems natural for her to listen. She's a psychologist and she has always seemed at ease opening up her mind and listening to my problems.
She seems to have advice to offer and always seems very focused on what I'm telling her. When someone listens to me the way she does, I feel this sense of security and like a huge weight is lifting off my shoulders. Truly listening to someone is so beneficial for them. It's like the person speaking can have more faith in you as a person and in how much they care about you.
For some reason, I have always felt that there is this fine line between helping and service. I suppose they should mean the same thing, but the effect on me (my personal character) seems totally different. Service—helping out at church, joining Student Council, volunteering at the nursing homes. That is the stuff that we complain about, the stuff that seems forced and at times, annoyingly out of the way. Simply helping someone, however, is so natural. “Compassion will come forth as needed…simply because it is its nature to do so” (Dass 15).
This reminds me of a time I helped out a random stranger at HEB. A woman was carrying a huge bundle of balloons and was struggling to fight them into the backseat of her car. I rushed over and assisted her in stuffing them into the backseat and then closing the door. Wearily, she turned to me with an appreciative smile and said thank you. I could see the appreciation in her eyes and I could almost feel the change in my mood as I headed into the store. I felt elated and lighter. Happier.
Ram Dass discusses that “our choice of how to help may turn on personal motives and needs” (Dass 14), but I honestly think that it depends. Sure, it felt good to help out the woman, but even without the repercussion, I am relatively certain I would have helped anyway. Because I know that I would appreciate it. I guess it really does boil down to that one simple rule: treat people like you want to be treated. However, I get what he’s saying when he discusses that people want to be doctors to have that title and respectability. I’ve thought about other health professions, but they just didn’t seem like they would be as self-fulfilling. Don’t get me wrong, however. I love the idea of helping people. For a long time now, I’ve considered the idea of being a pediatrician or a cancer doctor. It would be so nice to touch these people’s lives and have a chance to help them recover.
Does that make me selfish that I want to make others feel better? I’m not entirely sure I understand Dass’ whole point of view about that. I mean, surely helping a cancer patient isn’t selfish. There’s the risk that the patient will die and then you will be left to deal with the pain of losing that person and the pain of the people that person left behind. However, you were there and you made that much difference—which could have meant the world to these people even though you got hurt in the process.
I get worried reading too into the whole helping people thing. I like the idea that helping is just natural. It is something that comes with being a person—or an animal for that matter. The dolphin surely didn’t have much to gain from helping out the drowning scuba diver. Dolphins are harmed by people all the time and even hunted, so helping was the last thing that should have been on its agenda. However, the dolphin “was smiling” (Dass 4). It wanted to reassure and help not because it would gain from the experience, but because the diver would.
And it’s true: I do recall images of a place or circumstance “where going out of [the] way was hardly out of the ordinary” (Dass 8). And it still should be. I don’t mind going a little out of the way for people every now and then. And clearly those little actions can make so much difference. If we all did a little bit every day, it could mean so much—but if only some people help a lot and some don’t at all, it’s almost a lost cause. I have faith that people will continue to be friendly and helpful no matter how much changes in our society. And we will see that the people we are helping are not the only ones that leave that situation with a good feeling inside.
