posted April 11, 2013 02:54 PM            

Some of you may be familiar with Susain Cain's bestselling "Quiet: The Power of Introverts", and with "the Quiet Movement" it has spawned. I'm a huge fan of Ms. Cain, and, for the most part, an introvert, who has spent most of his life bucking against the conventions of an extroverted society.

At the same time, I can be fiercely outspoken (and, admittedly, verbose) on matters of importance to me. I can easily be frustrated with people who hold their cards closer to their vests, reluctant to bring their more private thoughts into the public arena. I welcome the openness, the sharing, the exposure to scrutiny and discussion. All too often, we can become walled-off within the echo chamber of our own minds. Even though seeming to offer sufficient challenges to ourselves, by meticulously questioning and reworking our own perspectives, we can prevent any real challenge to our way of thinking if we are not willing to subject ourselves to the onslaught of other minds.

Moreover, it seems to me that, what a man has discovered in secret, he has a rather clear duty to express openly. What is the point of leaving the world, and entering the desert, if not to return to the world for the purpose of shedding that light which we have forged in darkness? Silence can equally imply both consent and dissent, but only speech -- and, indeed, action (the most sincere and open form of expression) -- will make our position explicit.

There appear to be two relatively distinct schools of thought on this matter, although a truly balanced approach would rather suggest a synthesis of the two, than an undue emphasis on either one or the other.

According to the first way of thinking, which reflects a polytheistic approach, we ought to embrace one another as unique animals, or different members of a single body, each with a separate function. Each of us should be respected and honored for our strengths, and pardoned for our weaknesses; hardly expected to exhibit a more holistic and complete type of perfection. We are not to criticize the carp for his inability to fly, or the lark for his inability to swim. Each of us has our respective role to play in the larger drama, and ought to focus most directly upon that work to which we are best fitted. And so on.

According to the second way of thinking, we ought to give equal, if not greater, consideration to the development of our weaknesses, as to the exhibition of our strengths. We must not be satisfied to play a given role, but must strain after proficiency -- or, at the very least, competency -- in the widest possible variety of roles. Indeed, it may be that we cannot even hope to expertly perform a given function without first acquiring some skill in a variety of other capacities. The dreamer who is impractical cannot bring his dreams to completion, and the man of the world cannot attain the true peaks of experience without some powerful inner vision.

While cooperation between peoples, and a reasonable division of labor, is essential to the harmony of any society, an inward and individual harmony must also be sought. There is no small portion of wisdom in the reflection that we ought to honor people (including ourselves) for those specific gifts which they (or we) bring to the table in greater abundance, and to make concessions for those gifts in which they (or we) are lacking. This is only to show appropriate respect for what has gone before. Nevertheless, the recognition of what truly is, in this moment, must include an appreciation for what else may be. Not merely our gifts, but our potentials, must be counted.

The Renaissance philosophers were not mistaken in the special position they accorded mankind, among all the animals. Not that we are necessarily greater, -- since the Renaissance philosophy did not glorify the best which was in us without excoriating the worst; calling us, at one and the same time, both better and worse than the beasts -- but, that we have the potential to be something more complete; not merely more than the animals, but even more than the gods; who can only inspire, according to their respective natures, a particular aspect of ourselves.

We are not called to emulate the gods, but God Himself.

We are called to wholeness.