Ben and Me_ From Temperance to Humility - Cameron Gunn [60]
As the judge struggled with what to do, the grandmother, who twenty minutes before wanted no contact with this man who had betrayed her trust, agreed to trust him again. She offered to let him live in her house. As I leaned back and conferred with her, concerned about why she was changing her mind, her answer was simple: “He has nowhere else to go.” When we took a brief adjournment to see what other arrangements could be made, the young man looked at me, honest desperation in his eyes, and said, “I just want to go home so my grandmother can watch me.”
{ Honesty is the best policy.}
Later, when my own personal test came, the answer to my dilemma was simple. I turned over the evidence, and the charges were dismissed. An old woman with more problems than I could imagine had shown me the way to virtue. Are we honest only when it is profitable? Can we be honest when it costs us? That is the Sincerity that Franklin demanded.
Making the “How Do I Look in This Dress?” Question Seem Simple
Early in his autobiography, Franklin tells a story about how, in his youth, he and some friends stole some stones intended for house construction to build a wharf from which he could fish. In the morning, the men working on the house discovered their loss of building material. Of what came next, Franklin wrote:
Inquiry was made after the removers; we were discovered and complained of; several of us were corrected by our fathers; and though I pleaded the usefulness of the work, mine convinced me that nothing was useful which was not honest.
I suspect that Franklin’s father’s method of instruction was decidedly old school. Undoubtedly, however, the lesson was well learned: “Nothing was useful which was not honest.” On the other hand, Albert Camus said: “How can sincerity be a condition of friendship? A taste for truth at any cost is a passion which spares nothing.”
Where is the truth in this search for truth? Is there a balance between the socially acceptable “little white lie” and the brutal honesty that repelled Camus?
I’m not sure if there is, but the need for balance in Sincerity was tested by the most daunting of challenges. A request by my wife to tell her what I thought of her.
Let me begin by saying that I love my wife. We have been together now close to two decades and have survived life’s journey with an equal measure of respect, humor, and affection. We have survived, as a couple, despite the challenges of being the parents of a special needs child, losing another child at birth, and all of the other various and sundry crap that hits life’s fan. That is not to say that our marriage has been complete and unending bliss. Anyone who makes this claim is not going to win any awards for Sincerity. We have, however, made a good life together—a good life that could not possibly be made better by her asking me what I think of her. Of course, the irony of the situation is not lost on me. I had asked Michelle the very same question at the beginning of my Franklin experiment.
As we sat in the living room of our home, children tucked snugly in their beds, my wife turned to me and said, “Some days I feel like I’m a failure. I feel like I’m not doing enough. I’m trying to be a good mother, good at my job, and a good wife, and some days it just feels like I’m not good at any of them. Am I a failure?”
So why had Michelle asked me if she was a failure? Was she planning her own Franklinian quest? Why is it even important to know why she was asking? If this is a week of Sincerity, shouldn’t Sincerity be the order of the day? Dare I answer “sloth” when she asks what type of animal she is?
Let me tell you why it is important and why such a question might be an occasion for a nuanced answer.
A question from one’s spouse is filled with the context of the entire relationship. The answer given must likewise be colored by that context.