(from www.casa-in-italia.com)Justice. It's my most valued principle. It is one of the few ideas in which I am willing to stake that precious admission, "I believe."
Justice has a handful of different faces. There's the still, steady gaze of one who dispenses judgment based on fact. Person A committed this act and therefor must make amends for it in kind to the injured Person B. This can also be the blindfolded lady statue in the courtroom who sees nothing, but she evaluates evidence. There's also a blind lady with an exposed breast... symbolizing an open heart to circumstances, intentions, misunderstandings, etc. I'd like to think Justice also has the face of a smiling child who both sees things as they are and as they should be.
For me, I'll admit, I tend to be the blindfolded statue in the courtroom. I gather what has occurred and then I draw conclusions. My shirt isn't completely open. Low-cut, maybe, but not totally open. If anything, I feel I am best off putting that heart in a box somewhere until I can logically work through what has happened.
That's fine if some kid threw a ball and broke my window. This approach does not always work in matters of the heart. If I put it away, how can it testify? If I can't feel through things like a child who is what he/she is, then how do things get sorted out?
A kind person reminded me this afternoon of a saying:
If all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.I guess I must concede. This is true.
I did not have many guides growing up in matters of familial or friendly dispute. My mild mannered mother only raised her voice when you were
really in trouble and let the rest of it go. The main reason, I believe, that I became a critical thinker is because of the comparison of my mother's house to my father's. Life in one place was more comfortable, more peaceable, than the torrential cycles of life in the other place. This was right in my face in stark contrast. A treasure trove of subjects for analysis.
My first actual teacher, in matters of dealing with problems and muddling through life, is a man I often refer to as my Russian father or Papa. Frankly, the lessons were harsh. The gloves were off. He would never yield in exposing to me what he considered to be the truth. I rarely argued with his interpretation... more than likely because it was in this way that I learned how to navigate the choppy waters of human behavior. He proved truths to me about my character, my lack of goals, my surroundings, the people I chose as lovers and friends, etc.
I think his method relies on the assumption that there
are conclusive truths about people that anyone can read. Once he instructed me, "Look at that man. Tell me what you see." What he was really asking me to do was to size up this other teacher and find the truths about who he is as a person. Just by looking at him. I fumbled miserably. I saw a stern, serious, no-nonsense sort of man. Papa clicked his tongue and shook his head. Then he mapped the man out. I was mystified at the way he drew his conclusions. This other teacher was in fact a kind man, maybe even a little mischievous, and had a marvelous sense of humor.
How did he do it? It's not like looking at grass and determining it's green. He looked this person over for about two minutes and could derive a basic outline of this person's character. He used to do it with my boyfriends, too. I'd show him a picture and he would run down the list of characteristics (often, apparently, I made some bad choices). Maybe the next question is,
Was he right? In terms of the teacher in the original lesson, he was right. I finally found myself in a position to interact with this man and he was a fantastically funny guy. He was also wildly creative, very supportive, and very understanding. I feel fortunate to have been very wrong about him. As for the boyfriends... well, Papa got it right at least 70% of the time, but, surely his own concern for my well-being must have occasionally clouded his observations.
I can't explain how I eventually developed this practice, but I, too, have a habit of looking over a person, a situation, and with some concentration and a few more minutes, I tend to draw a basic outline of what is before me. Now, if I come to know the person or situation better, I make my revisions accordingly, but I took on this practice of revealing underlining truths.
Which is sort of crazy...
This is a subjective process. So, I am just as susceptible to being moved by my emotions as Papa must have been. We have both had a tendency to be correct, but unless you can find a correct answer every time, the method is not science and not perfectly reliable. It is particularly so with people. Behaviors alter under too many variables. And each variable will effect each person differently. What may be utterly devastating to one person is not necessarily moving whatsoever to another person.
However, with Papa and his conclusive truths, I began seeing things in people that perhaps they themselves were unable to see. These things seem different at any moment with the right stimuli. But, quite often, when you follow the path of absolutes, you only know one way to operate. Confront it and fix it. This method uses the hammer. Papa used the hammer on me, and it was effective. Say what you will about his methodology, I believe I am a better, more self-aware person for having known him. But, I have followed him and all I have in my tool belt is a hammer.
But, not everyone is a nail. I am, but that's me. I prefer the brutality of facts to avoid the time wasted on messy feelings or human nuances. I did A which made Bob feel bad. I explain my motivation or lack thereof behind act A, and apologize. I expect the same from Bob.
But, not everyone is Bob either.
Some people do not respond to being hit on the head with their insecurities. Some people need to be shown through softened understanding. Some people need time to find it themselves. Some people need to see it without seeing it. All these different people require different methods of enlightenment.
In Sue Monk Kidd's
THE SECRET LIFE OF BEES, August tells her lodging runway, "You have to know when to prod and when to be quiet, when to let things take their course." Sadly, my love for Justice has great difficulty being tempered with... a respect for someone's lack of cooperation. I see logical conclusions and I don't see why everyone doesn't want to see the truth faster. I see predominantly indisputable facts. I acknowledge mishaps, carelessness, a lack of malicious intent, but a balance must be sought between the injured and the inflicter (however unwittingly the parts are played).
I had one more teacher in the ways of humanity. A French woman who, like me, challenged the rightness of situations and wanted to know the truth (And how can we
know truth? That's another discussion for another day). Unlike me, she had the finesse to filter, to pick and choose, to know when fighting would be pointless given the adversary. I talked very little with her. I took it all in. I observed her rhythms and tried to see what she must have seen to determine what to do with the situation.
I'm trying to combine these ideas. The hammer is not the right tool for every job and, therefor, I must expand the tool box and better learn my trade. Some things cannot be fixed... instead, they need time to get to a place where they see fit to seek repairs. Some things need glue, something goopy and swishy between the toes to be coaxed back together. Other things require a screwdriver... instead of having the point driven in with one crack of the hammer, they need to ease into it, allowing the point to be driven in at a certain pace.
So, for me, Justice is chief and leaves less room for a love of Patience. Perhaps this is the perfect union, however, to be of any use to the people. A sense for justice can be a virtue, but untempered with compassion and thought, it can be used and reduced to sin. At the risk of sounding redundant, we must seek balance.
