I credit standardized tests for introducing me to ethical relativism (and before my philosopher friends take exception to my use of the term, I know I’m playing fast and loose with its definition!). The College Board had no idea that it rocked my adolescent world by asking me, on the multiple-choice section of the test, not to choose the correct answer but the best answer. What?! Oh, and did I mention that I had a limited time to contemplate and weigh the possibilities before selecting what I believed was the “best” one? “This,” I thought, “Is surely the stress that people who dismantle bombs must experience!” (I never missed an opportunity to embrace hyperbole, as is the right of all teenagers.) My indignation at having to think in anything other than absolutes has diminished only slightly, but age and life experiences have made me long for a time when ambiguity existed only in the world of the SAT.
My English teacher Mrs. Price introduced our tenth-grade class to Thomas Hardy’s “The Man He Killed,” a poem told from the perspective of a soldier home from battle who recounts having to kill a man with whom he had found himself “face to face.” The soldier discusses how this man could easily have been his friend, someone he might have, under different circumstances, had a drink with in an “ancient inn.” This soldier knew that his “opponent” was likely no more a “villain” than he—that he could have been a good man with a family who loved him. In other words, this was not a man he would have dreamt of killing had the circumstances just been different. However, they weren’t. And so he did what he had to in order to preserve his own life and knew the man across from him would have done the same.
Janie Crawford, the protagonist of Their Eyes Were Watching God, killed the love of her life. Her partner, infected with rabies and dying, attempted to shoot Janie. In an act of love and self-protection, Janie made the choice that broke her heart; she shot him instead.
Literature and life hand us these real-life versions of “pick the best choice, not the correct choice” far too often for my liking. But to deny their existence or to flee from them leads to a different set of problems that, for me, are even harder to live with. In a way I am glad that the motto “You can do hard things” is having a moment. It reminds us that we really are built to encounter difficult situations that we might not have chosen or created for ourselves, but we must address all the same. I know, though, that as soon as an idea enters the cultural mainstream that it runs the risk of being reduced to a pithy meme, its original power diluted. But we can and must do hard things at every stage of our lives, even if the reminder isn’t accompanied by the GIF of a gladiator stalking toward battle, sword brandished.
As I was hiking with Best last week, two coyotes emerged from the trees. I know that when we hike, we are visitors in the home of hundreds of residents and they have a right to be exactly where they are. Consequently, I’m mindful of being respectful of the space coyotes, skunks, snakes, bobcats, and many others deserve. That said, when these two coyotes advanced toward us instead of going on their way while we went on ours, I secured Best at my side, readied my knife, and stood my ground. Under any other circumstances I would not dream of doing harm. However, I would not hesitate to mortally wound any who threaten my safety or those in my care. There was no “correct” choice that morning, only a “best” one. My relief was immeasurable that after some strutting and vocalizing, the coyotes disappeared back into the woods.
To the dismay and even disappointment of some dear people I know, I will defend my precious life and any others I’m able, by whatever means I have to. I will never seek out opportunities to inflict harm, but if a threat comes to me and I must decide between passively surrendering my own safety or eliminating danger, I know what I will choose. That does not mean that it is an easy choice.
More often, I believe, we must make the “best” choice in our relationships, both professional and personal. This is painful, and even when we’ve made the most thoughtful decision we can, it is still distressing. The colleague who takes advantage of our work ethic by repeatedly saddling us with their duties might not respond kindly when we establish a boundary of no longer being complicit. The family member who is hurtful, yet unwilling to entertain that they are at all culpable, is better kept at arm’s length. Perhaps temporarily or perhaps permanently.
We can rage and shake our fists heavenward that things shouldn’t be as they are. And we’re right. They shouldn’t. But as my daddy has always said (and was met with rolled eyes and huffs of frustration from his teenaged daughters), “It is what it is.” We can move through life with the daily commitment to being a good person with all the right intentions and still run smack into situations we did not create but must deal with. Maybe it’s a couple of tough-talking coyotes, maybe it’s a friend who we’ve finally realized will continue to take manipulate of us just as long as we let them—we can choose to do nothing, thereby sacrificing ourselves in one way or other, or we can make the “best”, not the “correct,” choice and rest in the peace that whatever direction we take, we’re doing so with clear eyes, good intent, and no regrets. I never thought I would credit the SAT for giving me anything other than a crippling test anxiety, but maybe those impossible questions I contemplated on a Saturday morning in my high school cafeteria have served me far better than I ever realized.
PartWolf 