United we fall, divided we stand

A recent conversation with a close family member was disturbing. We were talking about how close friends, and even family members, sometimes avoid family celebrations because of perceived differences in the way they approach life, faith, or even the event itself. 

As we spoke, I suddenly realized that I, too, hold on to some of these perceptions, though I usually do not act on them. Perhaps I do so to avoid confrontation. (I am a peace lover more than a peacemaker, most of the time!)

I should not have been disturbed or surprised. This is the age in which we live. Divided we stand.

At every level of society, we find leaders, whether in socio-political circles, religious contexts, communities, tribes, or language groups, drawing lines that separate people. Why do they do this? Often it is for perceived and desired ends that seem worthwhile, at least in the short term. Sometimes such divisions are even pursued with sincere intentions, though they may be built on incomplete perceptions or deeply held convictions.

Yet this is nothing new. While reading a book last evening, I came across two familiar thoughts: "In essentials, unity; in doubtful matters, liberty; in all things, charity." And: "Distinguish between essentials and non-essentials. Accept differences in non-essential matters, and do not allow those differences to overshadow our common faith and shared journey." (Paraphrased.)

These ideas were written three or four centuries ago, which means these struggles have accompanied humanity long before our current era. Yet I suppose I expect more from myself and from my generation. We are far more knowledgeable. We have built machines that can speak to us and even speak to one another. It is easy to assume that all this progress has made us wiser.

History, however, tells a different story.

Knowledge and advancement do not automatically produce wisdom. Even if I can converse with machines, it does not mean I am wise. I may overflow with information, ironically perhaps less so now that I increasingly depend on machines, and yet remain poor in wisdom.

Somewhere along the way, we seem to have quietly turned the old wisdom of "united we stand, divided we fall" upside down. We defend our separate corners so fiercely that coming together begins to feel like a threat rather than a possibility.

Why do we stand divided?

Is it because our "territories" give us identity and comfort? Is it simply the lingering instinct to mark and defend what is ours? Is it because leaders persuade us toward ends that we do not fully see? Or is it something deeper in human nature, the tendency to form silos and advance our own groups against those we perceive as different?

Perhaps part of the problem is that we mistake sameness for security. It often feels easier to be among people who echo our opinions than to make room for those who challenge them.

Yet there is far more that unites us than divides us.

The difficulty is that I often struggle to see those unifying essentials amid the loud voices arguing over non-essentials.

What strikes me is how easily we overlook what we share. Beneath our differing convictions lie ordinary human hopes: to be heard, to be treated fairly, to care for those we love, and to find a measure of stability in an uncertain world.

These shared needs do not erase our differences, nor should they. But they ought to make us pause before reducing a whole person to the one opinion with which we disagree.

Perhaps a useful question is this: Am I protecting something fundamental, or simply defending something familiar?

The answer may not always be comfortable. A preference can begin to feel like a principle when we have held it long enough. Yet familiarity alone is not a reliable test of truth or goodwill.

The challenge, of course, is that each of us is tempted to treat everything we believe as essential. Once that happens, compromise begins to look like surrender and listening begins to look like weakness.

Perhaps togetherness begins with small choices: asking a question before making an accusation, listening long enough to understand what someone actually means, or making a phone call instead of allowing silence to harden into distance.

Interestingly, we are also beginning to see that unity built around division eventually leads to decline. One only needs to look around today's political landscape. Increasingly, there is unrest and fatigue with narratives that depend on keeping people apart.

So perhaps we can recover the old saying after all:

United we stand.

Not because we are identical, but because we choose not to let every difference pull us apart. We can stand firmly in our convictions and still stand beside one another in our shared humanity.

And so I return to the question: What should I do?

Perhaps I need to invest less in accumulating knowledge and more in cultivating wisdom. To learn again what is essential and what is not. To hold tightly to what truly matters, while giving greater grace to what does not.

Perhaps that is where the journey begins.