Hubris and humility
As I work my way through an explanation of spiritual pain, recent experiences are compelling me to “back my way in,” as it were. Instead of defining and understanding spiritual pain, I have chosen to share my thoughts about how best to approach someone who is suffering with spiritual pain.
Over the past several weeks, I have had the eye-opening opportunity to talk with and learn from end-of-life doulas (EOLDs). In the future, I will have a post delving into what I have learned, but there is one thing that calls out to me now (for me, it is a “bell”): Among those who serve the dying and the loved ones in the liminal space with them, is a wealth of people drawn from all walks of life, each bringing a unique background, skills, and purpose.
I have met so many EOLDs I would want at my deathbed or with me as I sit with a dying loved one. How do I judge that? It is, of course, their background and experience, but more than that it is what the Celts called “Anam”…soul…
The Celts believed that our souls extend outside of our physical bodies and surround us as an extension of our true selves that can be felt and understood by others who pay attention. Not our egos or personalities, but who we really are. They believed we can grow our souls.
Anam can, for me, be felt and known in person, by phone, or Zoom. Maybe it’s a form of instinct, intuition, or “third eye seeing”, but I have learned to trust it more than the spoken or written word. This is how I know who I want with me when I am dying. I believe that this is what we can bring to the dying person, and this Anam is what is what the dying and suffering person may need.
In my recent encounters, I have also met with some EOLDs who seem to be pre-occupied with the glitz and glamour: the social media presence, wearing a hero’s cape, and living in a space where hubris replaces Anam. They seem to project the idea that they alone have the answers to the nuanced questions and issues around end-of-life care, that they alone can fix the inequities in how the dying are cared for. Their focus, sadly, is about them.
I have seen this before. Throughout my life as a palliative care and hospice physician, there have been (and still are) healthcare professionals who feel their idea of a patient’s ideal end of life journey is the final and best word. Those who operate issue their insights and skills from doorways or computers in a distant room rather than face-to-face with patients and families. Their version of a “good death” for the unique suffering person is the only reasonable outcome, and they have no willingness to co-create the “best death possible” with that vulnerable dying person. Relying on the false belief that the medications that they prescribe and control can fix all suffering, they choose to manage dying as a purely medical event. Hubris.
So, if hubris is where so many end-of-life care providers get lost, what is the alternative?
Humility.
The Lakota Sioux Shaman Fools Crow, now passed on to be with his ancestors and the Creator, spoke of how he would approach the space of a dying person. He called it “becoming a hollow bone”. He would intentionally remove from the encounter his ego, his expectations, and his plans. He believed the only way to legitimately occupy that sacred space was to be a conduit for whatever healing was to occur, a vessel for the Creator’s work.
Though they are a different culture, I believe the Celts and their understanding of Anam describes the same thing. Over the years, I have found myself being a hollow bone. It is not hard work, it is intention. I have found myself saying things to the suffering person before me that I had no plan to say when I entered their space. I have learned to trust that. No cliches, no trying to fix what I can’t fix, no demands from my ego. One funny (for me) aspect of this is how often during the span of my career as a physician I have had a patient call me “Father” as I left the room. I am a physician, but this… this is non-medical. Unmeasurable. Not in the realm of science. Humility.
Let me share in bullet point form some of what I teach medical students about this:
Entering the room of a dying person is entering sacred space.
We need to stand in the entrance to that space, take a deep breath, and clear our minds of any agenda, ego, expectations, need for control…and replace all of that with acceptance of mystery, awe, and wonder.
The dying person is more in control of what happens there than we are.
Not all suffering can be fixed. We need to learn to be OK with sitting with suffering.
Just showing up as our perfectly imperfect selves is often more powerful that any medication we can prescribe.
I understand how our passions can fuel our egos when we are doing something that we feel is important. This is true of me, as it is of all of us. At the end of the day, none of us is THE answer, none of us understands much of it, none of us will escape needing another person to show up, be authentically present, and walk us home.
