Rabbi Patricia Karlin-Neumann Stanford University
University Public Worship Sept. 30, 2007
Swimming with Integrity
(Ecclesiastes 7:1-13; Genesis 17:1-8)
This past May, California was riveted by the travels of two wayward humpback whales. A mother whale and her calf exited the Pacific Ocean and swam 90 miles inland up the Sacramento River. For over a week, amidst crowds of onlookers, the Coast Guard and wildlife experts attempted to coax the whales back to the ocean. First, they played recordings of humpbacks feeding, to entice them downstream toward the sounds. Next, they tried the sounds of killer whales—humpbacks’ natural predators-- to spur them toward the open waters. They banged on metal pipes with hammers. They tried to guide the whales with tugboats. Day after day, the whales remained in the river, as the humans grew more and more anxious about their health and safety. Finally, in fits and starts, seemingly of their own initiative, the whales swam downstream and presumably out to sea. The relieved onlookers celebrated, aware that the river, with its fresh water and confining banks, was a treacherous environment for the whales. They needed their natural habitat, the open ocean, to survive and to thrive.
The people by the riverbank understood that the environment in which whales are immersed plays a large role in their well-being. So it is for humans too. Our well-being, our sense of honor and integrity is shaped by our surroundings. What are the waters we swim in?
In our natural habitat, the academic world, too many students believe that cheating seems necessary simply to stay even, let alone to get ahead. Donald McCabe, an expert on cheating in academia, conducted a national survey of 21,500 undergraduates. He found that 74% of business students, 73 % of engineering students and 71 % of those studying science reported serious cheating[i]. These are the waters we are swimming in.
Students claim that they are simply preparing themselves for “the real world.” And indeed, outside the besmirched ivory tower, things do not look much better. We consume almost a daily diet of lame excuses and shameless lies proffered in public by people trying to cover up their misdeeds: Tour de France cyclists test positive for drugs; the attorney general resigns in disgrace; a senator compromises his dignity in an airport bathroom. Each of these events feels like a betrayal, like a kick in the stomach. We are surrounded by a crisis of character, an absence of integrity that influences our habitat as surely as the river water influences the humpbacks.
Have we reached a tipping point in our society? Are we becoming more inclined to assume the absence of integrity rather than its presence? At the heart of things, our lives are based on relationships -- from our close circle of dear ones, to the widening circles of communities, state and nation. And every enduring relationship is based on trust. We want to trust, to believe in and respect the people who make the decisions that shape our lives. We count on a spouse’s devotion when we make a sacred commitment of love. We count on a caregiver’s honesty when we leave our elderly parent or young children alone in her care. We count on a doctor’s dedication when we go under the knife. We count on an engineer’s accountability when we cross a bridge or enter a tunnel. We count on our government’s leaders to tell us the truth, to protect our rights and keep us safe.
We know how much the compromise of that trust affects our safety, our well-being and our own ethical standards. My friends, we are swimming in polluted waters. What damage can these waters bring to our own bodies and souls? In my prayerbook is the following prayer, “May it be Your will, Eternal my God and God of my ancestors, to deliver me today and every day from insolence in others and arrogance in myself; Save me from vicious people, from an evil neighbor and corrupt companions.”
The rabbis who authored this prayer understood our desire to avoid the snares laid by individuals who would harm us. Yet perhaps even more significantly, they recognized the unintentional, but pervasive influence of those who set bad examples for us. They knew that every age and every era would create its own polluted waters. Those ancient teachers realized that though the issues are community wide, the solutions start with the individual. They knew that each of us has the capacity to influence our neighbors with our virtues or our vices. As we begin a new academic year, with the refreshing autumn breeze suggesting renewal, let us ask ourselves some questions about our own integrity, to see if we have managed to swim against the contemporary current of deception and evasion.
Let us ask: “What is my tipping point?” Where do I cut ethical corners? When do I betray my own values and mute my own conscience? When do I offer myself flimsy excuses for the promises I have broken and the wounds I have inflicted? Excuses that might sound all too familiar, like, “I know it’s wrong, but it will be just this once…” Or, “Everyone else here does it.” Or, “No one will ever find out.” Or, “It won’t hurt anyone.” Or, perhaps the one most familiar to us here in Silicon Valley, “With my schedule, I just don’t have the time to do it the right way.”
In our complex, fast-moving, high-pressure world where integrity bumps up against expediency, where the cultural norms slip slide toward corruption, and where the fuzzy, grey and ambiguous ethical dilemmas we face always far outnumber the clear-cut black and white ones, I know how very difficult it is to set a high standard for ourselves and to live up to it. It is difficult always to do the right thing.
It is difficult. But it is not impossible. Were it impossible, none of us would be willing to gather in religious communities to call forth the best of our traditions. We come to pray because we hope and believe that time in a holy space spent in reflection and judgment will create a contagion of courage that can redeem us from that ethical tipping point of no return.
Do you know all those jokes about St. Peter at the Pearly Gates? They are trying with some humor to get at a pretty serious concept--the religious idea of judging our lives. The rabbis, too, conjured a picture of the court of judgment that God would hold with each of us after our deaths. They imagined that that interview would consist of four questions.[ii]
So picture yourself in that one-on-one with the Holy One. God looks you right in the eye and asks: Were you honest in business? That’s the first question?! Were you honest in business? The rabbis thought God cared so much about business ethics that they wrote: “If one is honest in his business dealings…it is accounted to him as though he had fulfilled the whole Torah!”[iii] They understood that integrity in business concerns more than money. The medieval philosopher Maimonides teaches “Lying in business dealings is much worse than financial fraud because in monetary fraud, restitution is possible, but when the deception is through words, no complete restoration may be possible. Financial fraud concerns only money; lying affects the person’s character."[iv]
It is easy for us to point to the Enrons, the Halliburtons and the Blackwaters and other glaring examples of corporate giants gone wrong. But it’s harder to look at ourselves in the mirror-- full in the face as God will -- and ask, “Is my word as good as gold? Am I proud of the kind of worker that I am? Am I proud of the kind of student that I am? Have I shortchanged my clients, my colleagues, my students, my peers, my instructors? Did I blame a classmate or a co-worker or a teacher for my own mistakes and inadequacies? Did I do my best work? Did I apologize when I was wrong? Were the decisions I made based on both fairness and compassion? How have I influenced the PH of the waters I swim in?
Living with integrity doesn’t mean never falling short. It does mean correcting the record when we do. It means engaging in reflection, repentance, and restitution—accepting our faults, resolving to make things right, and promising to do better. If we can correct the record, we can answer YES to God’s first question, and move on to the second: “Did you set aside time to study the Torah?”
The rabbis meant this literally. They wanted us to study the Bible—to learn about the paradox of faith from Abraham, the struggle for forgiveness from Joseph, the pitfalls of leadership from Moses. We are meant to learn from religious texts and stories how to act when confronted with our own moral dilemmas. God asks: Do we take the time to study Torah? That is, are we always learning, revising, testing and amending the blueprint of values that governs our actions? A life of integrity emerges only from study and practice, from making mistakes and repairing them, and from emulating people whose lives are striking examples of what moral courage looks like. Who are those people for you? What did they teach you from the Torah of their lives?
A friend of mine told me this story: In her work as an auditor, she discovered a series of irregular cash payments in the financial records she was examining. Upon questioning the executives, one made a veiled threat to her, insisting, “You will tell no one. This matter goes no further.” Although she was fearful, she reported the discrepancies. When I was asked her about the source of her courage, she responded, “My mother raised me to tell the truth.”
To whom are we accountable? Just our mothers? Our conscience? The law? Our communities? And what about when no one is watching? One time the founder of Hasidism, the Baal Shem Tov, had to get from one town to the next and caught a ride on a wagon with a passing farmer and his son. Halfway to their destination, the farmer pulled up alongside a field of watermelons. “You stand watch,” he directed the Baal Shem. “My son and I will choose some delicious melons for all of us to share. You call out if someone draws near.” The two had only taken a few steps into the field when the Baal Shem called in a terrified voice, “We are seen! We are seen!” The two men dashed back to safety, looked around and, bewildered, exclaimed: “There is no one here. Why did you call us back?” The Baal Shem, silently, pointed heavenward, and murmured, “Someone is watching. Someone is always watching.”
And in today’s world, it is not only God who is watching when we think no one is watching. In a world of MySpace, FaceBook, camera cell phones and YouTube, each of us can very quickly and unwittingly become a public figure. How we live our lives, how we conduct ourselves matters more than ever because there are endless ways for others to peek behind the curtain. Dov Seidman, in his book of business ethics, argues that, “The persistence of memory in electronic form makes second chances harder to come by. In the information age, life has no chapters or closets; you can leave nothing behind. Your past is your present.”[v]
Your past is your present. We are accountable-- to God, to ourselves, to our ancestors, to our children and our community. Our words are heard. Our deeds are seen. Our acts of integrity can embolden others. If we can live with awareness of our accountability, then we can say yes to God’s second question.
According to the rabbis, God’s third question will be: Did you create a family? In their commentaries, we learn that they understood “family,” in its broadest sense: Did you create a legacy? Did you leave something of value behind? Did you teach the wisdom given to you to your peers and to the next generation? Will those who knew you want to emulate your behavior? In Hebrew, the words for parents, horim, and teachers, morim, come from the same root—Torah-- teaching. Children can inherit integrity from their teachers as readily as from their parents.
Do you know the film, “The Emperor’s Club”[vi]? Kevin Kline plays Mr. Hundert, a teacher of history and classics at a boys’ boarding school. He teaches character as much as classics. One of his students, a senator’s son, Sedgwick, sorely needs character education. Mr. H. cuts a corner himself, giving the boy a coveted place in the school’s signature academic contest that he doesn’t entirely earn. During the contest, Mr. H sees that Sedgwick is hiding a crib sheet. He diplomatically insures that Sedgwick doesn’t win.
Many years later, now a captain of industry, Sedgwick organizes a class reunion, and challenges his competitors to a rematch. He confesses to Mr. H. that he wants to recover his honor. Proudly, Sedgwick’s wife and young sons watch the contest, with the same finalists, same format, same material, same cheering classmates. And, as Mr. H realizes, to his dismay, the same character--Sedgwick is wearing a tiny earpiece. Mr. H. suspects someone is feeding him answers, so he asks an esoteric question only his students would know, from a lesson Mr. H remembers that Sedgwick missed. His “answer man” is no help. After Sedgwick loses, he announces that the real reason he has gathered his old friends together is to launch a run for Senate. He wishes to follow in his father’s footsteps.
Minutes later, in the men’s room, Sedgwick runs into Mr. H. He admits to cheating, and adds conspiratorially,” I trust you'll keep this between us. As always. I trust you will.”
“ Do you mean am I going to go out there and expose you as a liar and a cheat?
No. I'm a teacher, Sedgwick. And I failed you---As a teacher. But I will give you one last lecture if I may. All of us at some point are forced to look at ourselves in the mirror and see who we really are. And when that day comes for you, Sedgwick, you will be confronted with a life lived without virtue, without principle, and for that I pity you. End of lesson.”
“What can I say Mr. Hundert? Who gives a damn? Honestly. Who out there gives a damn about your principles and your virtues? I mean, look at you. What do you have to show for yourself?”