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Dear Progeny,

On days like today, I’m overcome by guilt. It starts as a ping in my stomach, a fleeting, easily dismissed thing. By mid-morning it has swelled into a curiosity. And that might lead me to search for a helpful quote or flip the pages of a book. From there, I have enabled it to grow at its own will, to consume me if it needs to. Inevitably, I’ll come upon a passage that will become the day’s obsession.

But what is the root of the guilt? On his day of honor, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. exacts with precision the central premise of my unease. What if I, when life is easiest and carefree and replete with idle comfort, become the ‘white moderate’? As Dr. King outlines in his Letter from Birmingham Jail:

. . . over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.

I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that law and order exist for the purpose of establishing justice and that when they fail in this purpose they become the dangerously structured dams that block the flow of social progress.”

There is no easier feat than indifference. The channel is easily flipped; the book is easily closed; and the browser scrolls lazily to the next article. And a few days turn into a few weeks of my mind not considering much beyond my own concerns.

But that is too comfortable. That defaults to a “shallow understanding” of humanity. There seem to be two facets of overcoming my guilt, both of which King highlights in his letter as two of the four fundamental steps of nonviolent social action: self-purification and direct action. To me, this speaks to the relationship of virtue ethics and deontology in our psyche, the need for both a clear mind and busy hands in living justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly.

“Life’s most persistent and urgent question is: What are you doing for others?” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

Though King points to action as the apex of living justly, he considers self-purification first before one takes on action. Yes, I might be confusing the terms, because his prescription for nonviolent demonstrations speaks to movements and organizations. But I believe the point aligns with individuals as well. We need to be in right action with ourselves before we can be in right action with or for others.

Self-purification. The term sounds ephemeral, but King defines it as involving “workshops” and repeatedly asking tough questions about what one’s mind and body can endure in the name of social action.

Bloody Sunday, 1965; Selma, Alabama.

What does self-purification mean to the white moderate? If King is correct, then the purification comes in tangible, action-oriented steps toward one’s greater humanity. I’m not sure what your daily practice is for challenging your assumption, but for me, at its basest form, I endeavor to wrestle daily with the theologian Howard Thurman’s basic question: What do you need, really?

What elements of life do you require to come alive? If we come alive, then we are best able to help heal the world, because in our true form of aliveness we are best able to improve ourselves. What then can each of us do to embrace our own humanity and see it shine brightly in the hearts of others, regardless of creed, race, gender, sexual orientation, gender identity, or housing status? Pursue those things with incredulity. Quit your job, if you need to. Move next week, if you must. Abandon a creature comfort, if only for a day.

Will any of this assuage my guilt? Not so far. I quit my job last week. I moved across the country six months ago. I downsided my living space and donated half my clothes. But the guilt remains. It’s imbued in me. At first, I thought it was something to be eradicated like a tumor. But that might miss the point. I’m coming to the conclusion that it’s an ever-present condition that can shape us for the better, if confronted properly. It’s about the struggle, the incessant questioning, and ceaseless pursuit of the humanity of others. If nothing else, our efforts at self-purification can prompt our actions – the constant reminder that sitting on the sidelines, out of harm’s way, is a conscious choice.

For me, I notice my humanity and completely embrace the humanity of others when I am pursuing, full tilt, my life’s passions. My last job made me feel distant from myself, even though the job could have been worse. But once I again took a position helping those experiencing homelessness, I started coming back alive. I am sure there is a corollary in your life. Something that makes you come alive. Go do that. Don’t wait. Because King tells us, “‘Wait’ has almost always meant ‘Never.'” Don’t make excuses for it or fit it neatly into a timeline. Build a practice around it, so that we are in a constant fight for self-purification.

Finally, in linking self-purification with action, King seems to suggest that justice is only complete when the self comes into contact with others. Which is where each of you comes in:

If you see me get comfortable, embrace the convenient answer, default on my white privilege, blithely push aside the humanity of others, allow my prejudice to be concealed by pretension or sarcasm, to ignore the healing power of laughter, to cross the street out of fear, to avoid a neighborhood out of misunderstanding, then call me out on it.